


Watch Over Me

by snapeslittleblackbuttons



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Violence, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Ron Weasley Bashing, Time Turner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:06:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 63,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5837452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapeslittleblackbuttons/pseuds/snapeslittleblackbuttons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione spends her summer afternoons with Severus as he recovers from Nagini's bite while Ron tries to deal with Fred's death. WINNER: First Place 2017 Haven Awards, Best Time Turner. HEA. Rated: Mature. Lemons. Warning: abusive!Ron; domestic violence. As always, thanks for reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter are the express property of J. K. Rowling.

The Second Wizarding War had left most numb, and, depending on who you were, that deadened, detached feeling had been birthed by either loss or regret.

Hermione Granger actually knew a little of both. Some of the people she loved the most in the world were gone; a shadow of loss pursued her relentlessly, taking the form of Fred or Tonks or Remus, depending on the day. Hermione was well acquainted with regret, too: she had mistrusted and vilified the one man who had silently protected all of them—her former professor, Severus Snape. What good was being lauded as the brightest witch of her age if she hadn’t been able to figure out what side Professor Snape had truly been on? She should have been smarter, she should have _reasoned it out._ But fate had been kind, if one could call it that: Professor Snape had lived, miraculously, and Hermione would have a chance to make it up to him. Or at the very least, apologize.

As for the loss, she would just have to cope with it, somehow. Just like everyone else.

There was one light visible in the grey blanketing her life, though: Ron had finally, _finally_ kissed her. After years of waiting to be noticed _that she was a girl_ by one of her best friends, he had finally pulled her into his arms. Hey, maybe it hadn’t been the romantic moment Hermione had dreamed of, but it worked. In that instant, Hermione had believed that their relationship would blossom into everything her young heart longed for.

But, just like her beliefs about Professor Snape, she’d been wrong about that, too.

Since what had become known as the Battle of Hogwarts, Ron was no longer, well, _Ron_. Now that the war was over and Voldemort’s horcruxes had been destroyed, Ron floundered. It was as if without the goal of finding and demolishing them, he had no direction, and the dark personality brought out by Slytherin’s cursed locket surfaced again—this time, with a vengeance.

Ron’s new purpose in life seemed to be reminding his housemates that those who had been loyal to Voldemort should not be forgiven by the Ministry. There must be some punishment, some reparation, he pressed. How many times could he mention that no Malfoys had died in the war? How could that be fair, he argued, when they had lost Fred? Hermione had no answer for this, of course, but she knew that it was Ron’s way of dealing with his grief. That, and drinking. With only glimpses of the brave and sure Ron she thought she knew, _she_ was beginning to flounder. Something had to change.

Packages from the grocer in hand, Hermione ascended the steps to the home they all stubbornly continued to share. Perhaps in their shared loss, the four simply didn’t know how to move on yet. And with Ron in a black mood more often than not, she never knew what she would find when she cleared the threshold of the front door.

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry said from the kitchen table, looking up from the Daily Prophet as Hermione walked into the kitchen of twelve, Grimmauld Place.

“Hey, Harry,” she said with a bright smile, laying her parcels on the counter.

“I keep meaning to tell you, Snape is awake.”

“Really?” she said, turning towards Harry.

“Yeah, I just went to see him in the infirmary,” he said.

“I…I should visit him too. How is he?”

“He’s…I dunno…different, Hermione,” said Harry with an odd note in his voice.

“How?”

“He’s…relaxed? No, that’s the wrong word. Agreeable? More approachable? I’m not sure. I think you just have to go see him for yourself,” responded her closest friend, leaving her wondering what he’d been unable to articulate.

“Okay. I’ll go. Maybe later today.”

“He—“

A large crash—followed a few seconds later by a dull thud—interrupted Harry’s thought.

They looked up at the ceiling in unison as if it would reveal what had happened, then caught each other’s eyes. _Ron_. Harry folded the paper and set it down on the table. Harry sighed. “I’ll get him.”

“Do you want any help? If he’s passed out…”

“No, it’s all right,” he said dejectedly and left the kitchen to climb the stairs.

* * *

 

That afternoon, Hermione Apparated to just outside the Hogwarts main gate and made her way through the ruined building to the infirmary in search of her former professor. It was as if the castle had received its own wounds from the war. Each broken stone, each toppled wall taunted her with a question: _who died here?_ It was comforting to see Ministry wizards and witches already clearing the rubble in the corridor leading to the infirmary. She hoped the reconstruction would heal both the structure itself and those who had witnessed its destruction.

Hermione turned the corner into the vast room, noting it was less than half full now. She stopped a healer she didn’t recognize and asked, “Excuse me? Can you please tell me where I might find Professor Snape?”

Hermione was directed to a room in the back of the long, main ward. She supposed being a famous war hero earned one a private room for recovery. Entering with a soft knock, she saw Professor Snape lying flat on a bed, his neck wrapped in bandages that appeared to have been newly changed. His black eyes were open.

“Professor Snape…?” she asked softly as she entered the room.

He turned his dark eyes on her, but otherwise didn’t move. “Miss Granger. A pleasure to see you,” he said without a trace of irony. _A pleasure to see me?_

“How are you feeling, sir?”

“As well as to be expected, I suppose. Looking forward to recuperating in my own home,” he said evenly. “Please, sit down, Miss Granger,” he continued, waving his hand in the direction of a nearby wooden chair.

She sat. “How long before they allow you to leave, Professor?”

“Uncertain. Madam Pomfrey can be rather…conservative in her assessments,” he said wryly. “What brings you to Hogwarts, Miss Granger?”

She paused, collecting herself in the stiff chair. “Sir, if I may, I am here to…express my regret for doubting your loyalty.”

“Miss Granger, if you had never doubted me, I wouldn’t have been doing my job well enough,” he said with a self-satisfied smirk that threatened to turn into a small smile.

“Fair enough. I did want to apologize, however.”

“It is not necessary, Miss Granger,” he said, closing his eyes momentarily. Apparently, even her short visit was tiring him out.

_Well, he didn’t throw me out. And not even a single acid remark._ “Would you…may I…visit you again, Professor?” she asked, standing up from the wooden chair. On impulse, she added, “I could read to you as you recover, if you like.”

He paused, apparently considering her offer. “That would be…appreciated. I have nothing to read. That, in and of itself, may very well kill me.”

“Perhaps you have discovered their aim, Professor,” she joked.

He chuckled. “Perhaps, Miss Granger. Perhaps.”

She closed the door to his private room, surprised at how easily they conversed. _Actually, I could get used to a pleasant Professor Snape._

The next afternoon, after hastily grabbing the Daily Prophet and a couple of volumes from the Grimmauld library, Hermione ventured to the infirmary once again. “Hello, Professor,” she said, entering his room with a soft knock. He was lying on the bed, much as the day before.

“Miss Granger,” he said in greeting.

“How are you today, sir?”

“Still the subject of Madam Pomfrey’s machinations, I’m afraid,” he said.

“Ah. I have suffered those myself, sir.” She paused. “May I?” Hermione asked, indicating the chair near his bed.

“Certainly.”

“I didn’t know what you enjoy reading, Professor, so I brought several choices,” she said, settling herself down on the stiff chair.

“Indeed,” he said with an amused look, watching as she unpacked the hardcovers and placed them on the nightstand one by one. “I can hardly imagine you toting innumerable books around,” he said sarcastically.

She smiled at his jibe. “I see you have procured a book for yourself, Professor. Perhaps it’s not as bad here as you are making it out to be,” she said, indicating a small, green, leather-bound volume on the bed with his hand covering most of it.

He chuckled. “I assure you, I was more than generous in my assessment.”

“I could read from that one if you like, sir. You know, it resembles one I have in my library. It’s one of my favorite Muggle novels. I’m not exactly sure where it is right now though…” she said, allowing her words to trail off as she pictured the condition of her room at Grimmauld Place.

“Perhaps not this one today, Miss Granger,” he said evenly, bringing her back to the conversation while gripping the book harder with his left hand. He locked his infinitely black eyes with hers, and then his gaze swept down her face, stopping at her bottom lip. He frowned slightly, then said, “So, Miss Granger, what have you brought with you?”

“Well, sir, a couple of Muggle novels, today’s Daily Prophet, and two volumes from the Grimmauld Place library— _Potions for Play_ and the 1379 edition of _Wizards of Renown_.”

He barked a laugh. “You’re going to read _Potions for Play_ to me? Why, Miss Granger, I thought better of you,” he quipped, reaching to the side to retrieve it from the bedside table. “That experience alone might be worth me remaining in the infirmary.”

She smiled in confusion. “Professor, consider me quite ashamed of the choices presented. I am at the mercy of the library at Grimmauld and my meager purse, neither of which are anywhere near full at present.”

“Then is it correct to assume that you haven’t opened _Potions for Play_ , Miss Granger?” he asked, turning the leather bound book in his hand.

“No, sir, I have not. I assumed it was a children’s book…?”

He smiled wickedly, handing it back to her. “Allow me to relinquish this copy back to you for your…entertainment at some later date.”

_What on earth is he on about?_ “Thank you, sir.” She paused. “Shall we start with today’s Daily Prophet, then?” she asked, placing the potions book back in her bag.

“That would be…acceptable, Miss Granger,” he said, visibly suppressing a smile.

Hermione read the first two pages of the Daily Prophet in their entirety when she noticed his eyes were no longer open. “Perhaps we should call it a day, sir. May I…return tomorrow, Professor?” she asked softly.

“I would enjoy that immensely,” he said, his eyes still shut. “Miss Granger, before you take your leave, I must ask something of you,” he continued, opening his eyes.

“I would be happy to do anything I can to help you, Professor,” she responded.

“I would like you to create a journal for me—one chronicling my recuperation. It…may assist me in…creating antivenins,” he said slowly.

“Certainly, Professor.”

“I would like you to record your visits here, including specific dates and precise times, with your observations, of course.”

“I can do that, Professor.”

“Thank you, Miss Granger. I’m certain the journal will prove…useful…in the future,” he said with a strange look at her, and then closed his dark eyes once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two Weeks Later**

Hermione sat, her legs folded in her usual wooden chair, surrounded by the golden afternoon light streaming in the window. She glanced up from her page to the hills outside. The scorch marks that had marred the familiar grounds had been reseeded months before, so now the green was seamless to even the most astute observer. As the warmth persuaded her to remove her jumper, she wondered if opening the glass would disturb Professor Snape’s nap. She decided not to risk it. He tended to wake at the smallest sound; she let herself sigh silently and hoped, once again, a time would come when he would feel safe enough to sleep heavily.

She shifted away from the lazy sunshine, turning towards her former professor lying prone on the bed, and allowed herself a small smile. The past two weeks had been, well, _lovely_. In those weeks, she’d spent almost all of her afternoons in this bright room rather than dreary Grimmauld Place, mostly reading or simply sitting with him as he rested. When they did converse, she found she enjoyed his wry sense of humor more than she could have imagined; it matched her own perfectly. She adored his wit and respected his intellect. And now that it seemed like, well, a weight had been lifted from him _,_ he was certainly more receptive to her and her _insufferable-know-it-all-ness_. She supposed knowing one was free from insane master just might make one feel like that.

In the last two weeks, there had been blissfully long afternoons when Hermione would read for an hour or more while Professor Snape lay awake on the white linens of the bed, listening with his eyes closed. There had been blissfully long afternoons when Hermione had arrived while he had still been sleeping, and she found that she enjoyed those days just as much, if not more; she felt a certain inexplicable possessiveness of him, as if she were the only one qualified to watch over him while he recuperated.

Today had been one of the afternoons that Professor Snape had been asleep when Hermione had arrived. She had softly arranged herself in the wooden chair and glanced over at him to make sure the sound of lowering her book bag to the floor hadn’t woken him, then settled down and opened her book. Now it was more than an hour later and fresh air and green beckoned through the glass. He began to stir.

“You didn’t have to stay, Miss Granger,” he said as he opened his eyes and turned their infinite darkness towards her.

Hermione smiled softly at his customary response to discovering her in his room when he awoke. “I said I would be here,” she said simply, “so I am.” She saw something unreadable spark in those dark eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared. Gratitude, maybe? She raised an eyebrow and added the best mimic of a Snape-smirk she could muster. “Not to mention I have to _watch over you_ and make sure Madam Pomfrey doesn’t do anything untoward,” she teased.

He gifted her the shortest of strange looks then snorted. “Merlin. That’s a picture I don’t want in my head,” he said with disgust.

And at that, she allowed herself a soft laugh that touched her eyes, one of many that graced her features since she began spending warm afternoons in the Potions Master’s room. Then she went to fetch his tea.

* * *

 

Several hours later, Hermione closed _Wizards of Renown_ and stretched in the hesitant late afternoon light filtering through the window of infirmary. “Do you mind if we take a break?”

“Not at all.”

After a moment, she asked, “Tell me, will you continue to teach, Professor?”

“I think not, Miss Granger,” he said, chuckling, his dark eyes amused. “It’s past time I left Hogwarts.”

“What will you do instead?”

“I’m unsure. Perhaps I will set up a potions business eventually. I haven’t decided. I have some time to consider my options.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “What about you, Miss Granger? What plans have you?”

“I’m considering applying to the Ministry.”

“Shall I owl St. Mungos and see if they have a vacancy in the Janus Thickey Ward you can fill?” he remarked with a smirk. “Perhaps Mr. Lockhart needs a roommate. Or perhaps that was your intent all along…?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Merlin, Professor, tell me what you really think.”

He paused. “Miss Granger, truthfully the Ministry would be honoured to have you. Anywhere you chose would be honoured to have you.” He paused again. “I might suggest that the Ministry’s…internal politics…may not be very pleasant to deal with,” he finished seriously.

“You don’t believe Kingsley will have changed the Ministry much, then?”

“Uncertain. In my experience, it takes more than one man to change such an institution, and it takes years to do so. I am content to wait and see. From the outside.”

The door opened and Madam Pomfrey strode in the room. “I have your Blood Replenishing potion, Severus,” she said crisply, handing it to him. She eyed Hermione, who was yawning. “Miss Granger, with the innumerable hours you spend here, aren’t you tired? Wouldn’t you sleep better in your own bed?”

_The innumerable hours I spend here?_ _Sleep better in her own bed?_ “Er…” Hermione looked at Madam Pomfrey in confusion but managed nothing more before the mediwitch bustled out of the room.

“What on earth was she on about?” she asked Professor Snape, bewildered.

“Perhaps she needs some rest herself,” he said levelly into his glass of potion but said nothing more.

* * *

 

When Hermione reached the door to Professor Snape’s room the following day, it was already ajar. She pushed it fully open. Her… _her?_ Potions Master was sitting up, assisted, with his back towards her. Madam Pomfrey was leaning over him, changing the bandage around his neck. His infirmary frock fell loosely at his back, exposing most of his skin from shoulder to waist. She stared curiously. _Merlin, what…?_ All at once, she realized what she was seeing: the raised silver-white skin of countless poorly healed wounds. The scars divided his back into tiny slices, and covered nearly all of the surface from his neck to his backside.

“Oh!” Hermione squeaked, twisting around as fast as she could and forcing herself out of the threshold of the door, feeling all the blood drain from her face. She’d already guessed he’d suffered torture at the hands of Voldemort, but had he been _whipped_? Merlin, why? Were the scars from recent wounds or from long past? Merlin, those injuries…what had this man been through?

Madam Pomfrey and her assistant finished and pushed by her as they left the room. Madam Pomfrey pinned her with a warning glare. As she passed Hermione, she whispered, “Get ahold of yourself, girl. Don’t you dare embarrass that man.”

She nodded at the healer then forced herself though the door. “My apologies, Professor.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Granger,” he said evenly. “I take it from your words and the look on your face that you witnessed my bandage change.”

She dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Think no more on it, Miss Granger.”

She found those simple words were the hardest thing he had ever asked her to do.

* * *

 

The following day, Hermione threw Professor Snape’s door open and bounded into the room. “I brought you something today, Professor,” she said, depositing herself into the chair near his bed with a bounce and yanking her rucksack open.

“Is that so?” he said, amusement on his face. She retrieved the black plastic box from her bag and placed it on his bedside table. “Miss Granger, you brought me a wireless?”

“I did, sir.” She paused. _Oh, this was a stupid, stupid idea. He hates it._ She felt her face flush. “It’s a Muggle radio rather than a wizarding wireless. Actually, it’s mine. I thought you might enjoy borrowing it. Perhaps it might entertain you while you recuperate. Are you familiar with Muggle classical music? I find some of it to be quite enjoyable,” she said, finally forcing herself to stop rambling.

“Yes, I am. Thoughtful of you, Miss Granger,” he said slowly, a strange note in his voice. “What composers do you favor?”

“Well…” At his question, Hermione relaxed. “My favorite is Beethoven, although I enjoy Mozart, Rachmaninoff and Dvorak quite a bit as well.” She reached in her bag once more. “The wireless plays CDs, so I brought you Beethoven’s Third Symphony. It’s my favorite piece of music.”

“I am well acquainted with Eroica,” he said with a lazy smile. “An excellent choice.”

“May I…?” she asked tentatively, indicating the wireless.

“By all means.”

As the sounds of her favorite symphony permeated the air in the small room, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _Lovely. Just…lovely._ “Professor? Is it okay to say…how much I enjoy coming to see you each day?”

“That is…acceptable to say, Miss Granger.”

“I will need to visit in the morning tomorrow. I have a commitment in the afternoon, Professor.”

“As I have no commitments, I cannot say it affects me either way.”

At that, she rolled her eyes but found she couldn’t restrain her smile.

 

* * *

 

 

“Good morning, Professor,” she said brightly as she stepped into his room the next day.

“Really, Miss Granger, must you be so disgustingly cheerful in the morning?” he growled, slowly pulling himself to a sitting position.

“Why Professor, I see you haven’t had your tea yet,” she said, indicating the untouched service on his nightstand. “No wonder you’re not also _disgustingly cheerful_. You’re not awake,” she said as she poured his cup and added the two sugars she knew he preferred.

“Did you make an entry in the journal for your visit this morning?” he asked grumpily as she handed him his tea and settled herself into what she had come to think of as _her chair._

“Already done.” She turned to gift him a half smile, half smirk. “Shall we start with today’s Daily Prophet?” she asked, pulling the newspaper out of her bag and unfolding it.

“Please, not the Daily Prophet today, Miss Granger,” he moaned.

“Why Professor, you’ll fall behind on the gossip,” she teased.

“Trust me when I tell you, Miss Granger, I get quite my fill of gossip right here in the infirmary,” he said, taking a drink of his tea.

“Then I have no idea why you’d ever want to leave,” she responded. “Your meals are delivered. You enjoy gossip by the earful…”

“I’m afraid it’s not as juicy as I’d like,” he quipped.

“The meals or the gossip?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and playing along.

“Either,” he said with a straight face as she found herself giggling at his answer. “Miss Granger…?”

“Can you imagine Kreacher’s face…?” she said between gasps. As she noticed his raised eyebrow, she said, “Never mind, Professor…”

Professor Snape looked amused, but Hermione couldn’t decide if it was because he was laughing at her or because he might actually be imagining Kreacher’s face.

“I see you have procured a wizard’s chess game,” she said as she stifled her laughter and dragged her wooden chair closer to Professor Snape. “I’m not any good at chess, sir, but I’d love to see what you can do in that bed…er…I mean…I’d love to see how fast you can take my…er…I’d love to play with you,” she stumbled finally, her face flushing at her words. _What you can do in that bed? How fast you can take my…? Love to play with you? Sweet Merlin…how many times am I going to allow my mouth to run off without my brain? I mean, he’s an incredibly handsome man but…what?_

He made a strangled sort of noise in his throat but made no comment other than cocking his eyebrow, which made things infinitely worse.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she managed.

“Indeed, _Miss_ Granger.”

* * *

 

As she entered his room the next afternoon, Hermione noticed _her chair_ had been moved from its usual spot to one next to the bed. Apparently, her Potions Master had a visitor last night. She decided to ask him about it at some point today. Or at the very least, find an opportunity to tease him about it.

“Good afternoon, Professor. You are looking well this afternoon.”

“I do feel better dressed in my own clothing.”

“It’s certainly progress.”

He yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. “I’m wise to you, you know,” she said with a nod, seizing the moment as she repositioned the chair. He raised an imperious eyebrow at her. “You seem much more tired lately,” she said serenely. “Did you think it wasn’t obvious? I’m not blind. I know all about your nightly visitor.”

He blanched but tried to hide it quickly. Enjoying his disquiet, Hermione continued as he struggled to form a response. “When I arrived, my chair was moved again. Closer to the bed, I might add. Mysteries abound, Professor,” she whispered.

“Yes…well…” he managed.

“But it’s no mystery to me. I’ve sussed it out, but don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I do have to say that quite frankly, I’m shocked. You’d think Madam Pomfrey of all people would be immune to your charms. But she’s not, isn’t she? Even though she knows you need your rest, she still can’t resist you.” She saw the color begin to return to his cheeks and grinned. “Those nightly trysts are catching up to you.”

She noticed him release a breath he’d apparently been holding. “Guilty as charged. I had no idea I was so charming until I was restricted to this bed under threat of hexing,” he said emotionlessly.

“Really, Professor Snape, seducing a healer. Is nothing beyond you?”

“Apparently not.” He paused. “Speaking of which…” Hermione giggled as he leaned in to whisper to her conspiratorially. “Might you bring me some Firewhisky, _Miss_ Granger?” Merlin, that voice caressing her ear spoke to her in ways it should not.

“Merlin, _Professor_ , I had no idea you despised my visits so much. You are trying to get me banned from the infirmary, aren’t you?” she whispered back to him, smiling.

“Fair enough. A butterbeer, then,” he replied with his own wicked smile. “That should be tame enough to prevent you from being completely banned. I’m dying for a drink.”

“Again, it seems you’ve discovered their aim. Since they couldn’t keep you from reading, they are going to keep you from drinking. Brilliant of them, truly.”

He chuckled. “Madam Pomfrey—“

“Is here,” interrupted the mediwitch in question as she bustled into the room, apparently unaffected by overhearing conversations her patients were having about her. She continued briskly, “Miss Granger. Professor Snape needs his rest. If—”

“Poppy, I’m allowed a visitor on occasion,” he interjected before Hermione could respond.

“Yes, but with the amount of time Miss Granger spends here, I would not describe it as ‘on occasion’,” she said firmly, turning towards her patient.

“I will let Miss Granger know if I need rest, Poppy. Now please, leave us,” he responded just as firmly. “I’m certain whatever task brought you here can be postponed while I have a visitor.”

“Very well, Severus,” she said with a snide look at Hermione and, huffing and walking back towards the door, she added, without turning around, “Well, Miss Granger, if you insist on being here all hours, please encourage _your professor_ to get out of bed for a small amount of exercise. He needs to work on regaining his strength.” And with that, she left the room, closing the door in her wake.

Professor Snape sighed. Hermione raised an eyebrow and strolled to the window.

“Why Professor, if you got out of bed, you’d be able to enjoy the view from your window. It’s warm today…I see witches out there sunning themselves in far fewer clothes than usual…” she teased.

“This is supposed to inspire me to get out of bed?”

“Of course.”

“Why would that inspire me when I only have eyes for you, Miss Granger?” he asked mockingly. Hermione turned to leave. “Where are you going?”

“To ask Madam Pomfrey to have your eyes checked. Or have you fallen on your head lately?” she said over her shoulder.

He chuckled. “I’m afraid not. But when you see her, would you could ask her if I could borrow some Omnioculars?”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and now, for some more banter, a bit of Ron bashing, and a smidgen of angst...enjoy.

**One Week Later**

There had been much more than the usual amount of grumbling at the suggestion that they spend the afternoon outside, and if Hermione were to be honest, she wouldn’t have wanted to be the healer that escorted Professor Snape from his room to the warm lounge chair. The mediwitch who had certainly must have been a Gryffindor. But, despite all of his protests and threats to hex the next healer that dared assist him, once seated, he seemed quite content in the sun.

More than an hour had passed in the fresh air when Hermione felt Professor Snape’s eyes on her. She looked up at him, questioning. “I think it’s past time that you called me Severus, Miss Granger,” he said evenly, breaking the companionable silence.

“All right…Severus,” she responded, openly smiling, his given name delightful on her tongue. “So you must call me Hermione.”

“Very well then…Hermione.”

After a moment, she said, “May I ask you something? Do you miss the life you had…Severus?”

“Do you mean the torture, the constant fear for my life, or the stress of lying to the Dark Lord on a daily basis?” he cracked sarcastically, but without heat.

“I’m sorry, sir. I should have asked if there was anything about it you missed.”

“A decidedly odd question, Miss…Hermione.” He paused, gazing out onto the grounds. “I have to admit, there will be one thing that I miss…”

“What, sir?”

He paused again before answering her, considering. “The Malfoys would host grand parties with…dancing. I…enjoy the…art of the waltz,” he responded slowly. He turned his dark eyes on her. “I realize how petty, spoiled, and petulant that sounds. But…” he paused, “it also happens to be true.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Do you enjoy dancing, Hermione?”

“I do. But I’m afraid I don’t have much experience. The only formal dance I’ve ever attended has been the Yule Ball. I only know how to waltz, and barely so.”

“I could…teach you if you like,” he said with an odd look, as if he were embarrassed at the suggestion. “It would be my great pleasure to instruct you, should you desire.”

“I would enjoy that immensely, Severus,” she responded shyly, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the flush she felt rise in her cheeks, then opened her book to read once more.

“Hermione…?” he asked after a few minutes.

“Hmmm…?” she said, not taking her eyes off her book.

“Never mind. I’ve forgotten what I was going to ask you.”

“I can owl Neville Longbottom for you,” she quipped, looking up. “He has a Remembrall—perhaps you could borrow it. That is, if he’s remembered where he’s put it.”

“Merlin, Hermione, you don’t have to threaten me,” he said with a snarl.

“But it’s so delightful, Severus, to see the look on your face when I do.”

* * *

 

Back at Grimmauld Place, Hermione shut the door to her bedroom behind her and sighed, glancing around at the mess. She had spent a pleasant afternoon in the sun with Professor Sn— _Severus_ , she corrected herself—and had been looking forward to a peaceful evening. But her bedroom, in all its exhausting chaos, was not going to cooperate. Everywhere she looked screamed _tumoil_.

Laundry was everywhere, except, perhaps, in the closet and hamper. Daily Prophets lay abandoned on the floor. Leather bound schoolbooks were piled in teetering columns along the edges of the room and on top of every horizontal surface. She conceded that it was the first time in her life she didn’t know exactly where every single possession she owned was located—especially her beloved books.

The part of herself she had relied upon for superb marks throughout Hogwarts, for planning during the hunt for the horcruxes, for order in everything in her life…had simply gone on strike. No matter how Hermione tried, she just couldn’t bring herself to clean any of it up. It wasn’t that she reveled in the clutter—instead, letting her room go to seed had been _freeing_ somehow. It was one less thing she was _responsible for_. And if the price of this small freedom was the deplorable chaos that surrounded her, so be it.

With a sigh, Hermione sank down on a bare patch of bed. They had finally finished _Wizards of Renown_ —she smiled as she remembered the scowl on his face when she teased him about being listed in the next edition—and they had also finished most of the volumes in the sparse Grimmauld Place library. Now it was time to add new choices to her rucksack. She needed to find something here, in this mess, that her Potions Master would enjoy. She owned mostly schoolbooks and Muggle novels, which were not of much interest to him. _If the Hogwarts Library were only open._ She could certainly find something worthy to read to him there.

As she evaluated the merits of yet another title, Ron sauntered in without so much as a knock. She turned when she heard him. “Hey, Ron,” she said warily. He smelled of liquor.

“What, gonna go ‘read’ to that greasy Death Eater again tomorrow, ‘Mione?” asked Ron with a sneer.

“Ron, he’s still in the infirmary. And I don’t mind. He’s so different. If you’d come with me, you’d see.”

“So,” he sneered, picking up an arbitrary book and turning it in his hands, “you enjoy your sneaky little rendezvous, don’t you, ‘Mione? How many times has he gotten in your knickers? The greasy dungeon bat turned out to be a pretty good shag, huh, ‘Mione?” Ron snapped the last, tossing the book back down among the debris on top of her dresser with a small crash.

“Ron, please. He’s recovering—he can’t even get out of bed without help.”

“Exac’ly,” he slurred.

“Ron, he just needs company,” she pleaded. “Look, Ron, you’ve been drinking again so you’re not thinking clearly,” she said, trying to reason with him. “I know it’s hard with Fred gone, but you don’t have to do this.”

“You’re right, ‘Mione, I don’t have to do _this_ ,” he snarled, indicating Hermione with a nod up and down, “and I certainly don’t have to listen to this either,” he added at a yell, walking out and slamming the door behind him so vehemently that it vibrated in its frame.

She sat there stunned and mouth agape, staring at the closed door. _What just happened?_

After a moment, the door handle turned, the door swung open slowly as someone knocked softly. “Hermione…?” the unkempt dark hair and round glasses of her best friend greeted her through the opening in the doorway.

“Hey, Harry,” Hermione said. “I guess you heard Ron’s exit.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Come here,” he said, enveloping her in giant hug. “Look, Hermione,” Harry released her then took her hand in his. “We’ve all tried—me, Ginny…even George. You need to stop. Stop trying to make excuses for him, stop trying to protect him, stop trying to save him. He doesn’t want to be saved. He doesn’t want our help. You need to let it go, let him go.”

“It’s common for those battling depression to express themselves in anger,” she recited automatically.

“Look, I get it. I really do. I’m worried about him, too. But at this point I’m more worried about you,” he said, locking his green eyes on hers.

“I’m fine, Harry. Truly.” She paused, taking in Harry’s frown. “Listen, I’ll be going to see Professor Snape tomorrow. Want to join me?”

“I can’t, Hermione. I told Ginny I’d go shopping with her,” he said with a wry smile. He put his hand on the doorknob and turned to go. “Just think about what I said, okay? I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, collapsing on her bed, surrounded by chaos of her own making.

* * *

 

“Severus, you’re standing up by yourself!” she exclaimed with a delighted smile as she walked in to Severus’s room the following day.

“Why, _Miss Granger_ ,” he said, “I might be persuaded to assert that you have a firm grasp of the obvious today.”

“Why, thank you, _Professor_. I couldn’t be more pleased at my progress,” Hermione responded with an exaggerated curtsey.

Madam Pomfrey looked from Severus to Hermione and pressed her lips tighter together in disapproval. “All right, Severus, that’s enough for now,” she said, helping him back towards the bed.

“How are you?” he asked, smiling softly at Hermionne after the mediwitch had left.

“I’m…okay, Severus,” she said, sitting down. “Things can be…difficult at Grimmauld Place.” She paused. “It doesn’t matter. How are you feeling today?”

“Better each day.” He considered her for a moment. “Something tells me it’s the right day to read something lighter, especially after finally finishing _Wizards of Renown_.”

“It was ghastly, wasn’t it?”

“Ghastly indeed. Dreadful. I thought it was an attempt to kill me.”

“How little you know me. I would much rather hex you than bore you to death, Severus. A sight more exciting.”

“Well, speaking of exciting, perhaps we could read that book you brought the second day you came to the infirmary…it was _Potions for Play,_ I believe? Do you still have it with you?”

“Let me find it.” Hermione opened her bag, rooting around. Once she put her hand on it, she pulled it out and opened to chapter one…and blanched. Witches and wizards were arranged in various compromising… _positions_. Somehow she got an impression of legs and arms and… _Merlin_. She slammed the book shut, jumped up and dropped it like it was a spider. “Severus!” she squealed, her cheeks growing hot.

“Ah, Hermione, the look on your face…” he answered, snickering. “Priceless.”

“Severus, you…you…you…!” she sputtered indignantly.

“Indeed,” he said between gasps of laughter.

“Sweet Merlin, I brought that to read to you the second day I visited you,” she said, feeling herself lose all the blood in her face.

“Indeed,” he repeated, with an amused smile when he could speak. “ _’A children’s book_ …’”

“Very funny, Severus,” Hermione said and started to laugh uncontrollably. “How did you keep a straight face when I brought it?” she managed finally.

“I am an accomplished thespian. It is just one of my innumerable gifts,” he said airily. He continued, a bit more seriously, “It seemed you need a little laughter today, Hermione. You don’t laugh nearly as much as I’d like.”

“I did, Severus,” she said leaning in towards him to cover his hand with her own. “Thank you.”  


* * *

 

At the sound of two sharp knocks the following day, Hermione looked up to see Harry poking his head in her partially open bedroom door. “Hey,” he said. “Ginny’s practice was cancelled. What do you say if you and Ron and Ginny and I head out on the town tonight? Maybe dinner than some drinks? Ginny is begging me to take her dancing. And to tell you the truth, I could use a distraction. Whatcha think?”

“That sounds like fun,” Hermione answered, smiling. “But who’s going to break it to Kreacher that we won’t be here for dinner?”

Some hours later, after moving from a restaurant to a nearby pub, the four settled in to a booth with a view of the rest of the pub.

“Dance with me then, Harry?” asked Ginny after the waitress delivered four Firewhiskys.

“Right,” said Harry, standing and taking a swallow of his drink, abandoning Hermione with Ron at the table.

“Would you like to dance, Ron?” Hermione asked tentatively.

Ron scowled but didn’t bother with an answer, keeping his gaze fixed on the crush of the dance floor. The two sat in silence as the music moved the warm air between them and the bar became fat with Saturday night revelers beginning their evening. Ron sat sourly, scrutinizing the mob, as the waitress approached again.

“Another?” asked the waitress, nodding in Ron’s direction.

“Yeah. Might as well bring two,” he responded without looking at her. The server rolled her eyes and strode away.

“Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“Never mind.”

They sat in the booth, Ron continuing to stare at the couples maneuvering on the dance floor. A blonde witch, dressed in a skimpy shirt and miniskirt, crossed in front of the table and Ron’s eyes followed her arse as it bounced by. Dismayed at Ron and distracted by the increasing temperature in the pub, Hermione pushed up the sleeve of her cardigan. At that, Ron finally turned towards her.

“You should cover that thing,” he growled, nodding at the scar on her arm, “it’s disgusting.” He took a large swig of his Firewhisky and dropped it down on the wood. “Someone needs to pay for doing that to you.”

“She’s dead, Ron—no one needs to pay. Hasn’t there been enough hate?” she reasoned.

“So she’s dead. So what? Malfoys should be made to pay then. They haven’t paid their due. They got away scot-free.”

“Ron, I just want to forget—“

“Can’t you understand, ‘Mione? Merlin, you’re _supposed_ to be _brilliant,_ ” he said with a sneer. At that he slammed down his empty glass and stood up, glowering down at her. “You might be comfortable walking around with that repulsive thing on your arm, but I don’t need to sit here and look at it.” And without another word, he rose and stalked off, vanishing into the crowded dance floor.

Hermione found that she didn’t have the strength or inclination to bother to try and stop him.

* * *

 

As she approached his private room the next day, Hermione heard Severus’s comforting, deep, rich voice twisting in laughter, then an unfamiliar tinkle of amusement mirroring his. Hermione hesitated. She knew each healer here at the infirmary—and it wasn’t a voice she recognized. Should she go in? She’d promised she’d arrive at two. Perhaps it was a mediwitch who was new to the hospital? Perhaps a visitor? Perhaps the one who seemed to always move her chair?

His door was ajar. Hermione peeked in to find a witch leaning towards Severus and he was sitting up, gazing at her warmly. Hermione’s stomach tightened. The witch was perched in the wooden chair— _her_ wooden chair, for Merlin’s sake—with her back to the door, her blonde hair perfect and straight, her fitted burgundy dress leaving little to the imagination. _I’ll just wait outside._ Hermione caught his eye as she backed out of the doorway to alert him that she had shown up when she had promised. “Miss Granger, please come in,” he said, turning a warm smile on her. The witch in the chair swiveled around and stared condescendingly at Hermione, taking her in, starting from her dusty trainers to her unkempt hair.

“I’ll come back later,” Hermione squeaked while backing up, picturing her unruly curls, and her ancient, lumpy jumper with matching threadbare denims. She’d not even bothered to look in the mirror before leaving Grimmauld Place. Merlin, she didn’t even own anything remotely like what that low cut frock that witch was wearing. When was the last time she bought herself something new, anyway?

“I won’t hear of it.” He glanced at the witch next to him. “This is Miss Hermione Granger, Natasha,” he said smoothly. “Hermione, this is an old friend of mine, Miss Natasha Avery.”

Hermione squirmed in the doorway. “A pleasure,” she managed.

“Likewise,” responded Natasha, raising her eyebrows without rising from her seat. Natasha turned back to Severus, reached out and squeezed his hand. “It was an untold delight to see you, Severus,” she purred. “As it appears that you have other plans for the afternoon, I will take my leave of you. But only if you promise I may return soon.”

“As the lady wishes,” he responded smoothly, kissing her hand. “I’m at your disposal, Natasha.”

At that, Natasha rose and made for the door, stopping momentarily to survey Hermione again, spending an inordinate amount of time staring at her hair. “Miss Granger.”

“Miss Avery,” she responded as best she could, her throat dry. As the sharp click of Natasha’s heels on the tile of the infirmary gradually faded, Hermione said, “Severus, I could have come back later.”

“Sit, Hermione.” He sighed. “Thank you for rescuing me. Natasha is a dreadful bore.”

Hermione managed to make her way to her wooden chair. “I’m sorry?”

“A spoiled, insecure, vapid bore, if you must know.”

“Merlin, Severus, tell me what you really think,” she said evenly, the tightness in her chest loosening a little.

“What I really think? I think she’s hunting for a husband. I’m afraid my recent status as a War Hero and Order of Merlin, First Class more than make up for my lack of pureblood status,” he said with a scowl.

“Please don’t tell me that some still think that way,” she said with her own sigh.

“Hermione, some will always think that way.” He sighed again. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested.”

“Why ever not, Severus?” she said, finding herself…fishing. “She’s very pretty.”

“I have no desire to marry a vacuous brat, which would require me to walk around my own home with my wallet open and a children’s thesaurus so that I might translate my conversations into words small enough for her to comprehend.”

“Severus…” Hermione giggled, “You’re searching for someone who matches your intellect? There’s nothing like setting your expectations high.”

“Who said I’m searching?” he said, looking her in the eye, seeming to say, _for the brightest witch of your age, you can be rather thick, can’t you?_

Hermione felt her face flush and looked away.

He broke his stare and cleared his throat. “I’m not interested in reading today, Hermione.”

“Is there something else you would like to do? Chess? Muggle checkers, perhaps?”

“Not today. Tell me about you,” he said simply.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not a difficult request, Hermione.”

“Haven’t you had enough of boring topics of conversation for one afternoon?” she quipped.

He ignored her comment. “Tell me what you enjoy doing with your time. Tell me about what you do when you aren’t here honouring me with your company.”

“Er…”

“Come now. I’d…like to know more about you. I realize I know very little about your life, actually.”

She looked at him skeptically. “I can’t imagine you finding any of what I’d tell you at all interesting. I’m just not very interesting.”

He stared at her and frowned, saying, “Nonsense.”

“I’m afraid if I describe my life in any amount of detail, you will beg Natasha to return and regale you with tales of her days, which, compared to mine, will sound like the most compelling adventures in world travel and contemporary witch fashion that one could dare to imagine. And then the illusion of my enviable life would be gone.”

“Hmmm, she’s far more intriguing when you put it like that. However, seeing through illusions is a favourite hobby of mine,” he quipped.

“Well then, let me see. This week alone, I single handedly tamed a rabid laundry pile, rallied housemates in the cause of contributing to the organization of a neglected library, succumbed to an invitation to sweets, and, how could I forget—I was trounced at wizarding chess. However, in the interest of full disclosure, I also abdicated my throne and published a novel in my spare time. Make that a play, yes, being a playwright sounds so accomplished, don’t you think?”

“Utterly riveting. Merlin, Hermione, how on earth did you find time to visit me?”

“Well, it’s simply a matter of priorities. Attend to the masses or read the Daily Prophet gossip page to Severus? Obviously, I needed to abdicate the throne so as not to be bothered by such mundane things as, you know, ruling an empire.”

“Obviously. But tell me how does one ‘succumb to an invitation of sweets’?”

“A housemate offered me a chocolate frog. I was unable to resist.”

“I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“I knew you would be. It’s beyond interesting. Captivating. Engrossing.”

“Mesmerizing, even,” he added with a slow smile. Returning to his original topic, he said, “Who are your housemates, Hermione? Are you staying at Grimmauld Place?”

“Yes, I am. Harry, Ron and Ginny Weasley live there with me. Kreatcher has been cleaning it up. It’s a bit better than when you saw it last.”

“So, it’s Potter and Ginny Weasley, and you and Ron Weasley, then.”

She hesitated at this. It had been true once, she supposed. Even if she hadn’t even been alone with Ron _in that way_ for, well, months. Even if she hadn’t _wanted_ to be alone with Ron in, well, ages. “I have my own room, Severus,” she said evenly.

“I’m not trying to pry.”

“I know. It’s okay. Ron hasn’t been handling things well since the war ended.” She hesitated again, unsure how much she should share. “He drinks. A lot. I suppose he’s drunk more than he’s sober. He’s…angry all the time. I…we’re not together, Severus. I thought we were immediately after the war but now…no. I…it just breaks my heart to see him so…bitter at the world.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione.” Now it was his turn to hesitate. Something changed in his dark eyes, as if a long past memory tugged at him. “Are you safe there at the house? With Mr. Weasley?”

“I’m fine, Severus. Even though he spends most of his time drunk and angry, Ron would never hurt me.”

“If that changes, I am always here,” he said seriously, locking his infinitely black eyes on hers. “For you, I can be anything you need me…or want me to be.”

“Okay, Severus,” was all she could manage, thinking she might fall into the depths of those eyes.

“See? That wasn’t hard, was it? And now I know so much more about you.”

“Yes, well. You must promise not to divulge any juicy details to the Daily Prophet. I have to think of the wellbeing of my empire, you know,” she said cheekily.

“You have my word, Your Highness.”

* * *

 

“Good afternoon, Severus,” she said with a soft smile as she settled herself in her chair the following day. “I…brought you something,” she stammered, suddenly shy.

“Indeed?” he responded, eyebrow raised.

Seeing that he was not put off by a potential gift, she continued. “I wanted to see if you would ‘succumb to an invitation of sweets’,” she said, her soft smile blossoming into wicked one.

“It sounds positively indecent when you phrase it that way,” he quipped.

She found her face grow hot as his tease. She looked down into her bag to hide her flush, and produced two Chocolate Frogs. “One for you, one for me.”

“Hmmm. It’s been years.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “I’m not sure what I’ll do if I get Dumbledore.”

“What are the odds?” she asked, handing him one. “What if you get _you_?”

“Pardon?”

“Severus, didn’t you know? All those the Ministry has deemed War Heroes have their own cards now.”

“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” he said with a frown, eyeing the package suspiciously.

“Nonsense, Severus. If you don’t want to keep it, you can just trade me. I’d love to have you.”

“You’d love to have me?” he replied. She looked at him and arched an eyebrow. “Perhaps I should rephrase…” he said, as she saw it was his turn to flush.

She decided teasing him was the best response. “Having you is all I think about each and every time I slowly tear one open…” she said in her best languid, sexy voice, demonstrating with the Chocolate Frog in her hand as she licked her lips and then bit her bottom one. She looked up and laughed.

He had turned alarmingly white, which was not an improvement from the pink. He cleared his throat. “Merlin, Hermione, yet another attempt to kill me?”

“Really, Severus, you truly do need a drink.”

“Indeed, _Miss_ Granger. Indeed,” he managed, his face beginning to return to a normal colour once more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a transitional chapter...some sweet things happen, some not so sweet. This is important, readers: this chapter contains a scene depicting domestic violence. Please don't read this if it will bother you. And please, please don't send me a Howler about it, because, well, you've been warned. And as always, thanks for reading. -slbb

"Some of the leaves are beginning to change colour, Severus," Hermione remarked, turning from the expansive view of the grounds from his room in the Hogwarts infirmary. "Do you mind if we open the window? It's beautiful outside."

Severus looked up from the Daily Prophet. "Not at all. Autumn is quite dear to me. It heralded the end of tortuous summers at home and the return to Hogwarts."

"I'm sorry to hear your summers were tortuous, Severus."

He gifted her a rueful smile. "That was a very long time ago. I don't think on it often."

She stepped toward his bed and sat down gently on its edge, looking him in the eye. "I hope your future summers make up for the past ones."

"I have a feeling they might," he said enigmatically, still smiling at her softly. "Would you like to go outside?"

"Yes! Then how about a short walk today? Towards the lake, perhaps?"

"Indeed."

"Shall I call a healer to assist you?"

"Perhaps we can try it on our own." The unexpected _we_ struck her in her belly, and she flushed. She offered her hand and helped pull him to standing, then linked her arm in his. With his first step, Severus stumbled, leaning into her smaller frame.

"You said you would teach me how to dance," Hermione teased, "I just didn't realize it was going to be today."

"If this is the best waltz you can manage, Miss Granger, you're going to need a lot of work," he whispered, unmistakable tenderness in the infinite dark of his eyes.

"Hours and hours of instruction to be sure," she replied softly.

"To be sure," he said, leaning closer for the briefest of moments then turning away.

As they reached the path to the lake, he quipped, "If the Daily Prophet gets wind that you've escorted me around the lake, you are certain to make the gossip page."

"As a stunning single witch, I am always on the gossip page. Or had you failed to notice?"

"I never fail to notice you," he said, keeping his gaze on the winding path in front of them.

"Stop teasing me, Severus," she said, arching an eyebrow, "or I will hex you into next week."

"Ah, threats from the Daily Prophet's most eligible witch. I'm shaking in fear."

"Obviously, you have no idea what power the gossip page wields."

"Obviously." He paused for a moment. "Madam Pomfrey assures me that I will be released tomorrow," he said evenly.

Her stomach turned to stone. "That's wonderful! I'm so happy for you!" she said as brightly as she could. Was this their last visit? Merlin, what would she do if she couldn't see him every day? "May I ask…where is home?"

"I have recently purchased a small cottage in Hogsmeade Village. I will continue my convalescence there."

Hermione swallowed. "May I still come read to you after you're home?"

"My…days would not be the same without you," he responded.

And with that, they continued toward the bench on the far side of the lake, arms linked, walking in companionable silence.

* * *

 

Back at Grimmauld Place later that afternoon, Ron swung the door to Hermione's bedroom open without bothering to knock. "'Mione?"

"Hello, Ron." She glanced up from _A Study in Advanced Charms_ , willing herself not to look wary while attempting to assess his state of mind.

He leaned against the open doorway, fingers of his left hand twisting the silver ring he wore on his right. "I'm in the mood for some ice cream. How about we go get some? I heard there's a new place in Diagon Alley where Fortescue's used to be. You game?"

"Sure, I'm game," she said, closing her textbook with a snap.

When they had purchased their chocolate sundaes, Hermione and Ron sat down at a wrought iron table in the late afternoon sun. "Brilliant idea, Ron," she said, smiling at him.

At that, Ron reached across the table to take her hand. "You and me, 'Mione, we're still a thing, aren't we? Aren't we still a thing?"

She swallowed hard. "Of course, Ron," she responded levelly, looking down at the half-melted mess in her bowl. "Of course we are."

* * *

 

"And Severus, you must owl me immediately should you experience dizziness or nausea. I recommend-" Hermione stepped into Severus's room, interrupting Madam Pomfrey's lecture. Her Potions Master was sitting on the bed, his brow furrowed in displeasure, a packed leather bag resting next to him. Her chair was gone.

Severus took the opportunity to cut in. "Poppy. I assure you there is no need to repeat your… _instructions_ …yet again. I will contact you should anything arise," he responded in a long suffering voice.

"Yes, but Severus—"

"It seems Miss Granger has arrived to…accompany me. I am in your debt, as ever, Poppy." He rose and turned to Hermione. "Let's go."

"I thought for minute we were going to have to make a run for it," she whispered as they reached the main ward.

"I don't think we're actually safe until we're past the door to the infirmary," he whispered back. "Don't turn around, she's still watching us."

"She's obviously become quite attached. I think you're breaking her heart."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

"You have no shame."

"You have no idea," he smirked.

As they passed the Hogwarts gates, Hermione asked shyly, "How would you like to get to Hogsmeade? I can Apparate us both there if you would like. Or we can just take the path."

"Let's walk for now."

When they had reached the path to the grey cottage—more the size of a bungalow—Severus showed no signs the small journey had tired him. "I believe this is it," he said, indicating a wrought iron gate thick with ivy. His new home was set back from the road, nestled in a copse of tall, still-leafy oaks. They ambled up the path from the gravel road arm in arm.

"It's lovely. I like the stone. And the trees," Hermione said.

"I thought it would suffice. It has a private garden in the back and a room I can dedicate to my work."

"And no view of Hogwarts, I see," she teased.

"Indeed." He paused. "Let's walk to the back," he said, guiding them towards the garden on far side of the property. A low rock wall surrounded the garden on three sides. Severus sat down on a stone bench as Hermione studied the surroundings.

The garden was crowded with established plants, the sheer variety of flora making Hermione smile. Someone had loved this place. She could almost see her Potions Master tending plants rooted in the dark soil, or reading the Daily Prophet while perched on the stone. "It's a peaceful spot, Severus."

"That was my hope. Of course, I was unable to see the property myself until today. It is…as described. It will more than suffice."

"May we look inside?"

"Certainly."

They pushed the wood door open to find a bright sitting room, already furnished. "It's perfect. Simply charming," she said as she walked through the doorway. "The windows…I love them. A bit of a change from your quarters in the castle, I suppose."

"I was fortunate to have someone I trust evaluate the property on my behalf."

"You'll have to introduce me sometime."

He chuckled and settled down on the leather couch. "Indeed."

Although she had never seen his chambers at Hogwarts, she recognized the possessions to be his: deep green curtains, a mahogany desk, a chocolate brown leather couch. Hermione indicated the bookshelves. "So you had your belongings moved already?"

"Minerva assisted me there. As you know, the dungeons were mostly intact after the battle. My quarters, including my books and workroom, were untouched."

"Well, perhaps we can find something more interesting to read now."

"It was unfortunate that no one has been allowed in the dungeon during reconstruction, otherwise my collection would have been at your disposal. Now it is yours to explore as you see fit."

She flushed at the gift. "That is…generous of you, Severus."

"I am known far and wide as a generous man," he said with a smirk.

"Perhaps a dictionary would be a worthy addition to your collection," she teased.

He chuckled. "Perhaps. Regardless, consider it yours."

"Thank you." Hermione sat down next to Severus on the couch. "It's warm today," she commented as she shed her jacket.

As she began to unroll her long sleeves that had bunched up under her coat, he caught her eye. "You don't need to hide that from me, Hermione," he said, indicating her scar.

"I don't want to offend you. I've been told it's…well…repulsive. Disgusting."

He raised an imperious eyebrow. "Repulsive?" He considered her with his infinitely dark eyes. "Hermione, you saw the scars on my back—are they repulsive? Is this brand? Knowing I volunteered for it?" he asked, pulling back his own sleeve to expose his Dark Mark, faded but still visible.

"No, of course not."

"There's nothing about you that is repulsive or could ever be." He got up from the couch and offered her his hand. "Don't allow anyone tell you otherwise."

And to that, she had no reply.

* * *

 

**One Week Later**

Harry glanced up from the Daily Prophet as Hermione entered the kitchen for breakfast. "Hey, Hermione. Are you going to see Snape today? I have to go to Hogsmeade to pick up some quills at Scrivenshaft's and I thought we could head over at the same time. I'd like to say hello to Snape and see his new place."

"Sure, I'd bet he'd enjoy seeing you. I'm leaving in a few."

The friends Apparated to the edge of Hogsmeade and walked farther east. "It's here, Harry," Hermione said, stepping off the winding gravel road onto the path towards the cottage. She knocked, opened the front door without waiting for an answer, and strode in. Severus was seated on the couch in the front room, an ancient potions book open on his lap. "Hermione," he said in greeting, softly smiling at her.

"Hello, Severus," she said affectionately as she sat down next to Severus on the couch. "Harry wanted to stop by today. I've been telling him how well you're doing. He's here to make sure I wasn't exaggerating," she said with a teasing smile up at Harry.

"Mr. Potter." Severus said, standing and putting out his hand for Harry to shake. "Good to see you. Please have a seat."

"Likewise, Professor. It's good to see you as well."

"May I get you something, Harry?" Hermione asked. "I believe there's pumpkin juice, and if Severus has been good—which I doubt"—Severus chuckled warmly at that—"there may be some butterbeer."

"Sure, Hermione. I'll have a pumpkin juice. Save the butterbeer for Professor Snape," Harry responded with an odd look at Hermione.

She turned to Severus. "What would you like, Severus?"

"A tea if you would, Hermione. Thank you."

"I'll bring out the scones we made yesterday," she said. She caught the look in Harry's eyes. "Rather, the scones _Severus_ made yesterday. Severus has sampled my baking..."

"…and cooking…" Severus added with a wry smile.

"…and decided it was best that he be in charge of the kitchen from now on."

"One of the best decisions you've ever made, Professor," Harry commented.

Severus leaned towards Harry. "Thank Merlin the infirmary is not far, Mister Potter."

Harry snorted. "Once when we were camping last year, Hermione tried to cook a fish—"

"Okay, okay," Hermione said, cutting across Harry. "So I'm not the best in the kitchen. I'm good at…other things." Severus raised an imperious eyebrow. "I'll try not to ruin the snacks between the kitchen and here. Unless, of course, you miss Poppy, Severus…" she said playfully.

"I'd rather spend the afternoon with you," he responded seriously, looking at her, seemingly unaware of anything else. Hermione gave her Potions Master's hand a squeeze, rose from the couch, and entered he small kitchen, leaving her two favorite people to their conversation.

* * *

 

As Hermione returned home that evening, her thoughts were heavy. She never liked leaving Severus and the cottage to return to Grimmauld Place. It made her feel... _distracted_ , almost like she'd left something important behind. She belonged _there_ , sitting in the sunshine on the stone garden bench…or reading next to him on the leather couch next across from a lively fire in the hearth…not in the gloom of a dilapidated brownstone with peeling wallpaper and grimy windowpanes.

The war was long over. How long would she and her battle-weary friends huddle together at Grimmauld Place? How long would they find comfort in living in the same home? How long would she need this crutch? How long would she want it? Severus, who had one of the most difficult roles in the war, had somehow moved on. He had a new home, a new life, a new… _future_. Why hadn't she?

Still feeling the weight of her thoughts, Hermione sat down at the kitchen table with Harry for supper. "Kreacher fixed a most delicious dinner for Master Potter. And for you, too, miss. You will be liking this, miss," Kreacher said as he distributed the baked potatoes and roast beef.

"Thank you, Kreacher," said Hermione. As he set the food on the table in front of her, Ron sauntered in with a scowl on his face. He sat down and dug into his overflowing plate without a word. "Where's Ginny tonight?" Hermione asked, passing the warm rolls to Harry.

"They called an extra Quiddich practice," Harry said between mouthfuls. "She should be home before 9."

"I have to go watch her one of these nights," Hermione said.

"You should. She's brilliant." Harry stopped chewing for a second and turned to look at his friend. "You know, Hermione, Snape's even different even from when I saw him in the infirmary. I don't mean physically better. There's something else…"

"I know. Isn't it great? I'm just so thrilled for him. He's doing so well."

"So now you're visiting the greasy Death Eater, too?" Ron threw his fork down with a clatter and stood up abruptly, stalking out of the kitchen without another word. Kreacher looked somewhere between scandalized and dejected.

"Fabulous," Harry muttered into his food. "Bloody fabulous."

After finishing dinner, Hermione retreated to her room to continue _A Study in Advanced Charms_. A soft knock sounded on her open door as Harry peeked in the opening.

"Hey," she said. "Come on in."

"Hey yourself," he said. He made his way inside, trying to avoid the debris strewn on the floor.

"Thanks for coming with me today, Harry," she said, "I'm sorry Ron's in a twist about it."

"It doesn't matter," Harry responded, sitting down on the bed, squeezing himself between two piles of lumpy, clean laundry. "Snape's doing really well."

"Yes, he is. He hasn't left the cottage much yet, but he's walking well on his own and can do everything himself now."

"Hermione…you didn't tell me. You should have told me."

"Tell you what, Harry?"

"If there's one thing I know about you, Hermione, you're not afraid of the truth."

"What are you talking about?"

Harry paused. "You're in love with him, aren't you?" he asked, locking his green eyes on hers.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Harry," she responded. Hoping Harry would not see the heat she felt rise in her cheeks, she rose and moved away.

"Hermione. Listen to me. Does he know?"

She turned to her best friend still seated on the bed. There was really no use in lying to Harry. "I don't know," she conceded softly, looking down at her hands and leaning back against the top of her wooden dresser.

"He's a brilliant man, Hermione, not to mention one of the best Legitimens around. He was a spy for years—he understands how people work. He must know. Does he…care for you?" he said, stumbling though his last question.

"I don't know," she repeated, miserably. "Maybe. I think so." She paused then and looked Harry in the eye. "What do I do? What about Ron?"

"To hell with Ron. You need to do what's right for you."

"But I don't know what that is," Hermione admitted.

"I bet you would, if you talked to Snape."

* * *

 

The mere thought of talking about any… _feelings_ she might have _for_ Severus Snape _to_ Severus Snape made Hermione want to sick up. Violently.

She would _never_ talk to Severus about it, no matter what Harry said. She was smart enough to know better, thank-you-very-much. Smart enough to imagine his grand, condescending smirk and acidic response to her confession: " _Really, Miss Granger, you've fallen for me? How charming. Whatever gave you the idea that I had any interest in you?_ " or " _Perhaps you and Poppy can commiserate on what it feels like to pine after someone who just strings you along for their own amusement."_

Merlin, he would laugh in her face.

Hermione sat in the Grimmauld Place library, alone with her thoughts. _A Study in Advanced Charms_ lay idle on her lap. Harry and Ginny were off, only Merlin knew where, and Ron had disappeared into his room hours ago. The solitude had given her time to examine her feelings for… _him_. And, _analyze_ , Merlin help her, whether it was possible that he—Merlin help her again—would ever return those feelings.

Okay, okay, first of all, she had to concede that Harry was right. Maybe she was a teensy weensy bit attracted to him. Who wouldn't be? His voice, his infinitely dark eyes, his wit…he was the most intelligent person she'd ever met. And if that last thing didn't get her knickers in a delicious twist, nothing would. Attracted? Sure. But _in love_?

What did the difference matter anyway if she had already decided she would never talk to him about it?

_She_ certainly wasn't attractive. _She_ wasn't wealthy, or from an old wizarding family. She didn't have connections…she didn't have… _power_. She was not Natasha Avery. And she would never be.

Hell, she was a _Muggleborn Gryffindor_. And he, he was a _Slytherin_.

_Maybe_ he believed she was too young for him. _Maybe_ he believed it was unseemly to date a former student. _Maybe_ he flirted with everyone, and that was just his way.

And _maybe_ she was a fool for anyone who gave her a bit of attention.

It was a hell of a lot of maybes.

Kreacher entered the library, interrupting her thoughts. With a floor grazing bow, he announced, "Dinner's ready, miss."

Hermione uncurled herself from an overstuffed chair and stretched. "Thank you, Kreacher. I'll call Ron."

"Very well, miss."

Hermione climbed the stairs wondering what state Ron would be in. How black would his mood be? Would he be stumbling drunk and beastly, or simply his once-familiar, albeit unreasonable, self? As Hermione reached his door, she heard muffled noises coming from inside. _It sounds like he's asleep and snoring under his blankets._ She hesitated, conflicted. _Will he be more angry if I wake him or if he misses dinner? I should probably let him know dinner's ready. I'll hear about it for days if I don't wake him up._

Hermione turned the knob as she knocked. "Ron…?" she called softly into the semi-darkness. She heard Ron swear…linens moving and… _giggling?_ She stared into the shadows, trying to discern images in the low light. "Oh!" Hermione gasped, as light blonde hair emerged from under the sheets. Hermione froze as the unmistakable crack of someone Apparating away echoed around the room. Ron did as he pleased—she'd always known that—but seeing a witch in his bed with her own eyes crushed her in new, more agonizing ways.

"How dare you interrupt me!" Ron leapt out of his bed and advanced on her, stopping only inches from her face. Hermione could smell the Firewhisky hot and sticky on his breath. His unbuttoned shirt flapped around him as he pointed in her face, spittle flying. "You stupid, stupid bitch. Now what the hell am I going to do tonight?" Ron fumed, his eyes narrowing.

"What…you said…I thought…?" Hermione stammered.

Ron seized her and slammed her against the wall so fiercely, so abruptly, the back of her head bounced against it. He pinned her there with one hand, his grip splitting the fabric of her blouse. His other hand was quick: his strike, hard and true, split her lip easily, ripping the skin with the ring he wore. "How dare you question me when you shag that greasy piece of shit Death Eater _every…single…day_? You open your legs for him yet you haven't even snogged me in months? You slut! I'm entitled to have fun, too!" He leaned in closer, the scent of his putrid breath mingling with the coppery smell of blood she felt pooling behind her lip.

"You will never see greasy git again," he whispered maliciously. As Ron raised his hand to strike her again, Hermione wrenched herself away and sprinted out of the dim room. _Somewhere safe._ With a fleeting prayer that she would not splinch herself, she opened her eyes to find she had Apparated to the front yard of Severus's cottage. Hermione licked her swollen lip. She smoothed her hair and torn shirt, and knocked with a shaking hand.

Severus opened the door, eyes widening fractionally as he took her in. She started talking before he could speak. "I'm sorry, Severus, I'm a bit early today. I mean early for tomorrow. I mean…I seemed to have forgotten my bag…" she babbled, and then the tears came.

Severus stepped forward, encircling her in his arms. After her sobs slowed, he said, "Come inside, Hermione," and sat her down on the leather couch. Steel glinted in his black eyes. "Hermione. What happened?" he asked as he handed her a handkerchief.

"Oh?" she reached up to touch her lip and looked down to see her finger was smeared with blood. "This? It's nothing."

"It's something," he corrected her. His dark eyes demanded the truth.

"Ron…was having a bad day. Apparently, I…interrupted his…plans when I called him to dinner." She blotted her lip with the fabric she found in her hand. Merlin, it smelled of… _Severus_.

His steely eyes turned flint. "Nothing warrants this," he growled, the dangerous edge in his voice terrifying her. "May I?" he asked, indicating her lip as he sat down next to her. "Hermione, I'm afraid I may not be able to completely prevent a scar," he told her gently. "There is some…skin missing. Would you like me to take you to Poppy?"

She shook her head. "No, Severus."

"I will do what I can," he said, vanishing the blood with a flick of his wand. As he began to sing a healing incantation in his rich velvet voice, she closed her eyes. _Merlin, that voice._ When he was done, she felt him brush her lip gently with his thumb, and she opened her eyes to the tenderness in his.

"Would you like me to pay a visit to Mr. Weasley?" he asked levelly.

"That won't be necessary."

"Perhaps Grimmauld Place is no longer safe for you. Would you like to stay here…" he stumbled, "until you sort it out?"

"That's not necessary either," she said.

"I cannot _watch over you_ when you are not here," he said with an indecipherable look at her.

She noticed the odd emphasis in his words. "You don't need to do that," her voice still unsteady.

"Actually, I do." His eyes flicked to his bookcase. "Come here," he said, gently pulling her closer and putting his arms around her once more. "It's okay, Hermione. I'm here. I will always be here for you." And with that, she let herself cry.

"Ron has forbidden me to come back," she whispered finally.

"Yet you are here." She looked up at him with wide eyes but didn't respond. "Hermione, it is time for you to make a choice."

"What choice?"

"You know what choice," he said gently.

He rose and walked to one of the room's many bookcases. He pulled out a green leather-bound volume and opened it; inside was a scrap of parchment. He closed the book, placed it back on the shelf, and brought the parchment to her. It read:

_use what you find_

"I…I don't understand," Hermione said, "this is my handwriting. I don't remember writing this."

"Read it again, tomorrow, after Ginerva leaves your room."

"Tomorrow? I don't understand."

"You will."

 


	5. Chapter 5

_“Hermione, it is time for you to make a choice…”_

Hermione had spent a sleepless night with Severus’s words unwilling to release her. Why would he say that to her? A choice between what, who? Was he thinking of her _incident_ with Ron, and asking her to make a choice between a life with Ron in it, and a life without, simply so she could stay safe?

Certainly he would have just said so.

But, truthfully, she could not deny the…tenderness she had seen in his eyes more than once in the last few weeks. This suggested another explanation for his words, one that seemed far too incredible to believe.

He couldn’t have meant a choice _between_ him and Ron. Merlin, he couldn’t have meant _that_.

And then there was the note Severus had given her, seemingly written in her own hand. He had refused to explain it. Instead, he had sent Hermione home with none of her questions answered. The words on the note implied something else far too incredible to believe. She looked down at it again.

_use what you find_

She was embarrassed to admit that, in all of the chaos of the war and its aftermath, _it_ was lost. Did the note mean she would find it? And use it?

She would never do that, would she?

Hermione was still holding the cryptic scrap of parchment when a tentative knock sounded at her bedroom door. Stuffing the note into her pocket of her denims, she opened it up to discover Ron, cleaned up and apparently sober. He thrust a bouquet of flowers towards her. He appeared…contrite.

“Gods, I’m sorry, ‘Mione,” he began. “I know I’m not always the man you want me to be, or even the man I want to be, but I’m trying.” He paused to glance down at the roses. “Come away with me this weekend and we’ll be good as new. It’s just this house and the memories here. When we get back, we’ll find a new place to live, just you and me. Take me back, I’m begging you here, ‘Mione.”

He was so sincere, so much like the Ron she remembered, it made her want to weep. “Everything is going to be all right, Ron,” she said, putting her arms around him.

“Just don’t go seeing Snape anymore,” he whispered in her ear. “Ever.”

* * *

 

“Hermione…?”

“Hey, Ginny,” Hermione glanced up to find the smiling face of her best girlfriend in her doorway.

“Whatcha doing?” Ginny pushed some debris aside to make room for herself and plopped on down next to an open suitcase on the bed.

“Packing. Ron asked me to go away with him this weekend.”

“You’re not really going, are you? Don’t. Harry and I are frantic about you leaving with him.” Ginny frowned. “I heard him and mum talking. I think he’s going to ask you to say the bonding words with him this weekend.”

“I don’t think that’s happening,” Hermione forced a laugh. “I’m not mental, Ginny.”

Ginny gave her a hard look. “Look, Ron’s a complete arse, but he’s right about one thing, isn’t he? You’re in love with Snape aren’t you?”

Hermione winced. “Ginny…I…”        

“You are, aren’t you?” she pressed, not unkindly.

Hermione turned away from her friend and pulled open the top drawer of her dresser to remove a few pairs of wool socks deep in the back. A thin golden chain was wrapped around the last pair. She gasped. _Well, there it is._ Hermione moved the chain tenderly to the side, pulled out the socks, and shut the drawer a little more quickly than necessary.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Hermione sat down on the bed next to her friend, hands heavy with clothes ready for her suitcase. “What am I going to do?”

“It’s pretty simple. Tell Ron to get lost.”

“You know it’s not that simple. Ron’s been through so much,” Hermione said with a sigh. “What will happen to him if I tell him no?”

“Hermione—“

“He’ll snap out of it,” Hermione said. “I know Ron is in there, if I could just reach him…”

“Look, we’ve all been through so much. Every single one of us, including you. But we’re not acting like Ron. He’s changed. He’s never going to be the same. He’s not the guy you had a crush on for years. If you can’t reach him, and Harry and I can’t reach him, he can’t be reached. He’s not going to get better, Hermione, he’s going to get worse,” Ginny said evenly.

Hermione touched her finger to her lip, finding the thickened skin of her new scar. She looked at Ginny. Eyes pooling with tears, she whispered, “But if I push him away, who else will I lose? You? Harry? Your mom? I’ve already lost my parents…and Tonks…Lupin…Fred…I don’t know how much more I can bear.”

“You’re never going to lose us, and you shouldn’t try to make things work with Ron because of us. _That’s_ mental. He’s already hurt you.” Ginny indicated Hermione’s lip with a nod. “It will be worse next time, I know it. And you do, too.”

“But Severus doesn’t want me!”

“This is not about Snape. This is about you and Ron.” Ginny looked her in the eye. “Don’t confuse the two. You need to do what’s right for you.” Hermione huffed a wry laugh at how Ginny’s words echoed Harry’s advice from earlier in the week. “Besides,” Ginny added with a small smile, “you don’t know that.”

* * *

 

But what, in fact, did Hermione know? Did she know for certain that Severus wanted her? Did she know for certain that she wanted him?

What if Severus turned out to be like Ron? She hardly knew this new Severus, all soft smiles and wit and clever sarcasm, all teasing and flirting; she did, however, know years of the harsh Professor Snape, who wielded more malice than she cared to remember. What if this Severus wasn’t who he appeared to be at all? What if she had been utterly fooled, taken in by a few precious smiles and insincere chuckles? As much as she commanded her skittish heart to focus on _Her Potions Master_ and how his eyes alighted when she walked into the cottage, her heart wouldn’t listen.

But to Ginny’s point—this wasn’t about her and Severus. Hermione had to make a decision about _Ron_.

Was she using her relationship with Ron—in whatever form it currently was—to entice him out of his dark behavior? To try and fix him? Wasn’t that akin to a trick, a lie? Like a promise she would never fulfil because she no longer wanted him in that way? Even worse, was she using her broken relationship with Ron as an excuse not to pursue Severus? Was she trying to hide behind something that no longer existed so she wouldn’t risk getting hurt by the one she truly loved?

Ginny had retreated to her own room, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts. Tomorrow. Tomorrow afternoon she was supposed to leave for a weekend with Ron. A fun weekend between friends was one thing, but a _bonding_? Merlin, she could not imagine marrying Ron. And if that was what he was expecting, it was not good news. Ron was not…pleasant when disappointed.

A decision had to be made before tomorrow. It had to be made tonight. Now, even. _She had to make a choice_.

Whatever Severus had meant by his words—whether he had meant a choice between continuing to try to help Ron and ending their relationship forever, or whether Severus had meant a choice between himself and Ron—she had to figure out what to do as soon as possible.

She reached into her pocket and removed the scrap of parchment Severus had handed her.

_use what you find_

Could it be what she suspected, that she had sent a message to herself? That she was telling herself that should use what she had just found in her drawer? Maybe if she used it, she could be certain—well, at least more certain than she was at this moment—of her feelings for Severus and his feelings for her. But should she use a Time Turner for that?

Hermione got up, crossed the room and opened the top drawer of her dresser once again. There it was, glinting in the light, snaking through the socks that remained. It called to her. As she pulled, the chain caught on something. Reaching deeper into the drawer, her fingers found a book. She pulled it out, untangling the fine gold from a green leather cover. It was her favorite, lost to her since she moved into Grimmauld Place months before: _Watch Over Me._

_“I cannot_ watch over you _when you are not here.”…watch over you_ …Sweet Merlin, she’d almost missed it. He’d as good as told her, hadn’t he? Merlin, it was _her_ copy of the book he’d been holding all this time.

The hourglass in the center of the Time Turner shone as she turned it over in her hand, and she knew.

She’d already done what she was about to do.

 

* * *

 

Hermione was going right _now_ , before she changed her mind. Before she talked herself out of using the Time Turner for something so _mundane_. Before she thought all the ramifications through, damn it. Exactly how many turns would she need to arrive the night of her first visit to the infirmary? _And can the Time Turner even transport me that far back?_ _Wait, my journal…_

After consulting her notes, grabbing her wand, and several old Muggle newspapers—thank Merlin she had not cleaned up the mess in her room—she smiled. The gold of the thread glinted in the room’s light. _I only want to know. I don’t want to change anything._

Hermione placed the chain around her neck and held the pendant in her fingers, turning it, turning it, and turning it. She felt the world around her obeying in its own turning, swirling around her in a blur of color and sound.

And then she was gone.

* * *

 

Hermione entered the echoing loneliness of the infirmary, squinting to see in the semi-dark. Nearly all of the healers were gone for the night. Would tonight’s single visit be worth the next seven weeks until she caught up to herself in time?

As she opened the door to the room she knew so well, she saw him. She padded over to his bed to brush his dark hair tenderly away from his face. He didn’t move. Hermione smiled sadly. _Poppy must have snuck him Dreamless Sleep._ When she reached for his hand everything seemed so simple, so clear. _I love this man. And it doesn’t matter if he loves me or not. I could never love anyone else._

She gently sat down on the edge of the bed simply to watch him sleep.

The moon had begun to rise, its cold light caressing the tiled floor of the room. Hermione looked up to gaze out over the grounds, and Severus stirred. She turned back to him to find his black eyes watching her.

“Miss Granger?” he whispered as if he was unsure she was truly there.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Is this a dream?” he asked. “Why are you here?”

“Because…” As she started to stand, the moonlight hit her face. He reached up to touch her, brushing the scar on her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “A dream…” he murmured, then closed his eyes to sleep once more.

Now that she knew the answer to her question, it was time to go. She would leave her book, hoping somehow he would glean some the message from its title. But would he know that _she_ had left it? _Perhaps a note…_ She pulled a quill and ink out of his nightstand drawer and ripped the last page from her book to use.

_Severus,_

_You may think my salutation impertinent, but I assure you that we have become very close these last few months, which you have not yet lived. I don’t know if you will remember this when you awake in the morning, but I used a Time Turner to come to visit you during the night. I came to you with the benefit of the experience of the last few months of memories of us._

_Yet even as close as we are, I know that you are a private man and would never speak out of turn at the risk of embarrassing us both. I came back to say that if you think there is a chance for us to have, well, a future together, I only ask of you that you find it in yourself to tell me, somehow, at the time you think it best._

_In the meantime, Watch Over Me, Severus._

_-Hermione_

She slid the parchment inside the cover of her green book and snuck it under his motionless hand. She bent to softly brush her lips to the top of his forehead, and left the infirmary.

* * *

 

Hermione walked to the edge of the Hogwarts property, planning to Apparate to her parents’ empty home and stay there for the next seven weeks or so. But what would she do to occupy her days besides visit W.H. Smith to play the National Lottery with winning numbers from her old Muggle newspapers?

When she arrived, Hermione found the front door to her parents’ darkened home was stuck in its frame. She managed to force the door open with her shoulder, dust swirling in the stifling, stale air of the foyer. Hermione peered into the darkness. It was lonely there, the echoes of abandonment permeating the walls and saturating the air. Would she ever see her parents again? Even if she did, would they remember her? Thinking of them made her feel just like the house: empty, discarded, forgotten.

So she found she would not be able to stay.

_Severus_. The image of his weakened body lying in the infirmary burned in her mind. _He needed her there._ Besides, she had never felt empty, discarded, or forgotten when she was with him. But how would she know when it would be safe to visit him? How could she possibly remember the exact times when she had been there before, so as not to arrive when her past self was already there? If she only knew exactly when…? _Well, of course._

She Apparated back to the Hogwarts main gate, made her way through the darkened castle to the infirmary, and crept inside Severus’ private room. He lay there, moonlight whispering on the folds of the sheets. He looked so frail, she felt her eyes prick with tears. Hermione silently pushed her chair nearer so that it touched the side of his bed. Pulling out her wand, she transfigured the wood into a cot for herself. Then she conjured a pillow, and curled up to go to sleep.

“Miss Granger, you’re here,” he whispered.

“I couldn’t stay away,” she answered in a whisper.

“But why?”

“Please, Severus...” She paused briefly. “When I come visit you tomorrow afternoon, you must ask me to create a journal…”


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione left before he awoke, unable to face Severus’s weakened form in the harsh daylight of the morning. She spent the day in Muggle London, wandering aimlessly between stores and Tube stations, distracted, exhausted, and uneasy. Would he remember to ask her to create the journal? What would he think once he read her note? Should she even have left it?

And should she go back to the infirmary and confront what awaited her?

As twilight settled on the city, Hermione realized it would be nearly impossible for her to stay away from Severus for the next seven weeks. She was used to spending most of her day with him, after all. _What if I go back to see him tonight?_ She tried to remember if he had said anything odd to her on her second visit. He hadn’t, right? But then again, he was the commensurate actor, wasn’t he?

It was past midnight when Hermione finally convinced herself to Apparate back to the Hogwarts front gate. _Time to face the music, Gryffindor._ Hermione tiptoed through the infirmary and slowly pushed his door open. Eyes, dark as the night outside, greeted her.

“Hello.” The velvet voice she knew so well sounded cold…distant. It ripped at her heart.

She swallowed hard. “Hello.” Then, nothing. Her chest tightened: she never considered he might reject her. Here. Now.

“The note you left…” His hands were holding on to the torn page as if her note were inked in poison. She glanced at it. Why was he holding it? Had he expected her to return?

“You read it?”

“Obviously.”

Silence as thick as the night filled the space between them.

Hermione sat down on her chair, wringing her hands. “I didn’t think I’d come back tonight,” she said softly. “I had planned on staying at my parents’ house for a while, but I…I couldn’t.” She looked down and forced her hands still. “I’m not sure where else to go. I wandered around all day. I…I just want to be here…with you. That’s all.” She looked at him expectantly. Nothing. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to continue. “I only planned on visiting you once. I came last night because I needed to see you. I needed to be sure.”

“Needed to be sure of what?”

“That I was making the right choice.”

“The right choice?” Severus echoed.

“Yes.”

“Miss Granger, you used a _Time Turner_ to make sure—“ he said, sounding irritated.

She found she didn’t care. “—that I had fallen in love with you. That I am in love with you. And I have—I am. And I left the note to ask that if you ever felt the same about me in the future, that you would tell me.”

There was a long pause. A very long pause. It gave her enough time to wonder if he would ever speak to her again. “You needed a Time Turner for that?” he finally said, a bit snidely.

“I’m sorry.” She swallowed. “I don’t want to change anything. I can’t. _We_ can’t. I just…needed to be sure.” A sigh escaped her. “I realize now how selfish it was. But now that I have the journal you asked me to create, I’ll never run into my past self, and I’ll never interact with anyone but you because I’ll know exactly when my past self comes to visit you. You see,” she added, “it had already happened. I already came back. The book—“

“Miss Granger—“

“Hermione, if you please,” she said, interrupting him.

He paused, as if he was fighting the urge to reprimand her. “Hermione, then. You can imagine this is quite unexpected.”

“Yes, I can imagine it would be.”

The silence that blanketed the room threatened to suffocate her.

“You did ask me to create the journal, today, didn’t you?” she asked.

“You still have it in your possession, do you not?”

Hermione let his question hang in the air, unanswered. After a moment, she whispered, “Do you believe me?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps. I can find no reason not to,” he said without emotion.

“Can you use Legilimency without viewing specific memories? To see that I am telling the truth?”

He looked at her shrewdly. “Since you are not trained in Occlumency, I cannot. But I don’t need Legilimency to know.” She took the lack of a specific answer to mean that he did, indeed, believe her.

Minutes ticked by.

“You came from how far in the future…?”

“Seven weeks, five days, three hours, and 17 minutes. Approximately.”

“Approximately,” he repeated. She saw his lips twinge in a potential smile.

“So I will fully recover?” he asked after a moment.

“Yes, you will, Sever—yes, you will.” She paused. “Look, I should leave for now. I never wanted to embarrass you, and now I’ve done the very thing I intended not to.” She stood. “I’ve made a mess. A bloody mess.”

“Miss Granger. _Hermione_. There is no bloody mess, as you so eloquently put it,” he remarked. “You must give me time to get used to the idea, that is all.”

“Of course.” Hermione sat back down in her chair, and stared into the semi-darkness. Had he fallen asleep? After several minutes ticked by, he cleared his throat. “Can I get you something? A tea, maybe?” she asked tentatively.

“Yes, that would be appreciated. Earl—“

“Earl Grey decaf with two sugars and no milk. Yes, I know.”

Hermione heard a slight harrumph before leaving to summon a kitchen elf. A sleepy Winky presented her with a full service, including biscuits and scones, and a tea for herself. She returned to find Severus sitting up in bed. He had lit a small sconce.

He frowned. “Merlin, do I smell jasmine tea? Really, Miss Gr—Hermione, jasmine is—.”

A small laugh escaped her. “Let me guess, ‘is not proper tea at all.”

“Are you going to interrupt me constantly to anticipate everything I am about to say, Miss Time Turner? Your brazen disregard for common curtsey coupled with your unwarranted intellectual arrogance may drive me mad,” he said with a scowl.

“My apologies,” she said, trying to keep a straight face.

They took their tea in silence.

“Is this the same Time Turner you used your third year? Why do you still have it?” he asked softly.

“Technically, it is still on loan from the Ministry. Minerva and Professor Dumbledore arranged for me to keep it under the condition that I use it for advanced study seventh year. I suppose with the war and all the changes at the Ministry, everyone forgot that I had it.”

“All the ones stored at the Ministry were destroyed, if you remember.”

“Yes. I was there,” she said simply.

“Perhaps the records stating you had one in your possession were destroyed as well.”

“Perhaps.” She shifted in her chair. Merlin, as comforting as it was to see him, this was _exhausting_. “Would you be comfortable if I slept here tonight?” Hermione saw Severus raise an imperious eyebrow, so she thought she might risk her favorite tease. “I can watch over you…you know, to keep Poppy from doing anything untoward.” She saw him scowl momentarily at her use of Madam Pomfrey’s first name, but she also saw the beginning of the smirk-smile that she knew so well.

There was a brief moment of silence. Severus picked up the book she had left him the night before. “Perhaps we can watch over each other,” he answered seriously, turning the volume over in his hand.

At that, Hermione aimed her wand at her chair, transfiguring it into a small cot. Then she conjured a pillow. As she tried to arrange herself comfortably, she felt a whisper of magic cover her, forming a soft blanket. She glanced over at him. “Thank you, Severus.”

He said nothing, and they both fell asleep in the moonlight streaming through the window.

* * *

 

And so Hermione’s life continued in much the same way for the next several weeks: arriving every evening to sit in the company of Her Potions Master until he closed his eyes for the remainder of the night. When she was certain he was sleeping soundly, she would curl up on the cot that her magic had fashioned from a wooden chair. Then, and only then, would she rest until she forced herself to leave in the morning.

Tonight, however, much to Hermione’s dismay, she wasn’t asleep yet. They’d been playing chess.

“I concede,” Hermione yawned, tipping her king.

“That is the most intelligent move you’ve made tonight.”

“Yes, well. I can’t even think I’m so tired.”

“Indeed. Did you do anything special today?”

“No. As usual, I Apparated to my bedroom at Grimmauld when I knew I would be here visiting you. When my past self would be visiting you, that is. Thank Merlin my room is messy enough to disguise anything I might move by accident.”

“The journal has proved helpful.”

“Yes. I got a few hours sleep, which is nice, since you never let me sleep when I’m here,” Hermione said around another yawn as she snuggled down on her cot. “Although I did spend a few lovely hours between Foyles and the London Library today as well.”

“Only you would describe that as lovely.”

“Or perhaps you.”

He huffed a laugh. “Perhaps. Goodnight, Hermione,” he said as she closed her eyes.

It seemed only moments later when Hermione was awakened by the sound of the room’s door lightly scraping across the floor. She opened her eyes to a ribbon of bright light spilling onto the tile and Poppy poking her head in the doorway. Hermione feigned sleep. She heard a faint _tsk_ , and measured footsteps approaching her. Poppy pulled Hermione’s blanket—the one Severus conjured for her each night—up to her shoulders. Hermione barely suppressed a giggle. _I think Poppy just tucked me in._ Then the footfalls receded and the door shut behind Poppy with a soft click, and Hermione fell sleep once more.

* * *

 

**One Week Later**

Hermione awoke with a start, startled by a strange, unidentifiable sound in the darkness. _I must have imagined it._ She closed her eyes to try to fall back asleep but a moment later, she heard it again. And now, it was obvious that it was coming from the man sleeping an arm’s length from her.

Hermione glanced over at him in the semi-darkness. Severus was groaning and twitching, his face contorted in grimace. _Poppy must no longer be dousing him with Dreamless Sleep._ “Please…I beg you…kill me…” he rasped pathetically, his voice cracking with strain. Hermione shivered. How desperate was he that he would beg for death lest he suffer living anymore? Who had done this to him? And when would he be free of these dreams?

As quietly as she could, Hermione dragged her cot towards Severus so that it was up against his bed. She gently reached out to shelter his hands in between both of hers. He didn’t wake, but seemed to find comfort in her touch: his face relaxed. Satisfied that she had calmed him a little, she laid back down and closed her eyes, keeping her hands around his. The next night, Hermione pretended to sleep until she could hear him breathing soundly, then she reached for his hands and held them until her own dreams took her.

Three days later, she awoke just before daybreak to find Severus’s dark eyes on her, watching her expectantly. Her hands were holding his. “Hermione…thank you,” he said softly.

“Of course,” she replied just as softly, and then reluctantly let them go.

* * *

 

The nights were pleasant in the infirmary and Hermione grew to enjoy the evenings with Severus as much as she had enjoyed the afternoons with him. He had warmed to her over these last few weeks, becoming less disdainful and more teasing, less aloof and more relaxed. Scowls and smirks had gradually become coloured with the beginnings of smiles. And since Hermione began taking his hands in hers each night, Severus’s nightmares had subsided. How she managed to keep hold of them all night while they both slept remained a mystery. But here, in Grimmauld Place, she had no hand to hold as she slept. No hand in hers when she woke.

Hermione yawned and stretched. Even without Severus’s hand to hold, her bed in her room at Grimmauld was _far_ too comfortable to leave just yet. Besides, she had just enough time to read today’s journal entry before her past self would be making her way back from the infirmary. Leaning over the side of the bed, she opened her bag to fish around for the notebook. While she conceded it _was_ a bit odd to be reading about something that was happening at the same instant miles away, she found comfort recalling their afternoons together. She never allowed herself to look ahead in her journal, however. And, to her great relief, except for his single question about whether or not he would fully recover, Severus never asked about the future.

Warding the door just to be safe, she opened her journal to view the entry for the day.

_Friday, July 17_

_2:37 p.m._

_I arrived at the Hogwarts Infirmary to find Madam Pomfrey changing Professor Snape’s neck bandage. (Madam Pomfrey was assisted by an associate healer.) As described earlier, Professor Snape had received skin lacerations from Nagini’s bite (see entry dated July 2) on the left side of his neck, presumably in his carotid artery or jugular vein (or both). These wounds from Nagini’s fangs exist in addition to the damage caused by the snake’s venom. The bandage change was done at the sight of this particular injury._

_During the bandage change, an assistant healer was required to hold him in sitting position as the Professor Snape was not strong enough to sit up by himself. Although the patient has seemed particularly tired lately—too the point of exhaustion on some days—I do not believe that his inability to sit upright unassisted was caused by simple lack of rest, and was instead primarily due to the injuries recently sustained by the snake bite. It is highly likely that the lacerations on his neck resulted in extreme blood loss._

_I observed a very large amount of scars on Professor Snape’s back. The scar tissue is raised and somewhat lighter in colour than the other skin on his back. The scars cover most of the skin from the shoulders down. These injuries are completely healed at this time. One can only assume that Professor Snape has suffered at least one whipping of some sort, likely during his time as double agent during the recent war._

_Question: Was there any permanent damage from (assumed) whipping that could affect the degree he will be able to heal from the current injury (Nagini’s bite)? (unknown at this time)_

_Professor Snape seemed unfazed by the degree of scarring insomuch as to be indifferent to this past injury when brought up in conversation. This is indicative of his resilience in the face of grievous injury. Undoubtedly, this resilience will assist the subject during the healing of the current injury (both lacerations and venom)._

_Although he is relatively weak (too weak to sit up on his own, for example) Professor Snape continues to be more energetic with each passing day._

_Time left infirmary: 5:06 p.m._

She laid the journal down and began to weep.

* * *

 

**That Evening**

“Hello, Severus,” she said, knocking and pushing open the door.

“Hermione.” He looked at her and frowned. “Is something troubling you?”

“No,” she lied.

He paused, openly appraising her. “You read your journal entry describing the scars on my back. You saw them earlier today during my bandage change.”

“Yes. But I didn’t need to read it to remember.” She folded herself into her wooden chair and looked down at the tile floor.

“I asked you not to think on it, if you recall.”

“I remember you telling me not to. It’s just…” A tear escaped her eye and traveled down her cheek. “I can’t stand the idea of you being in a situation where you were forced to endure something like that.”

“It was my choice, Hermione. And it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It matters to me.” She forced herself to look in his dark eyes. “What you had to suffer...” She swallowed. Her belly was a jumble of emotions: sorrow, empathy, anger, and…did she detect… _jealousy_? Could she be any more selfish? _But what if he never loves me that much? What if he never wants me at all?_ “You must have loved her very much to have done that even after she was gone,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Severus just stared back at her for a moment, saying nothing. Then: “I did love her, Hermione,” he said gently, “but that was a very long time ago.” He paused and looked away. _Merlin, what made me bring up Lily Potter? Am I completely mental? Do I enjoy hurting myself and tormenting Severus?_ He turned back to her from gazing out the window into the night. “I protected Potter because it was the right thing to do. I protected her son because, no matter what I did, I couldn’t protect her.”

Hermione just stared at him and said nothing. More tears followed the first.

“She never loved me, Hermione. Not in that way. We were friends. It would have never worked between us. She desired…other things. Things I never did, things that were not important to me. She wanted to be popular. She wanted someone who was popular and handsome and athletic. She wanted wealth, privilege and status in the wizarding world. I couldn’t be any of those things, and I couldn’t give her any of those things, so, in the end, I became…unimportant. Useless to her.” He paused. “I was a fool. But I was all she had. Until she found James Potter, that is.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t be. As I said, I was a fool.”

“I can’t imagine anyone thinking you a fool,” Hermione said evenly.

“Then you don’t have a very vivid imagination,” he quipped, apparently trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh, trust me, Severus, I have a _very_ vivid imagination,” she responded, following his lead.

“We’ll have to explore that sometime,” he said wickedly. Then, for the first time, he reached for her hand. She felt herself flush. “But just because I loved her doesn’t mean I can’t ever love someone else. I will…choose more carefully next time. And I am…hoping that next time, my feelings will be returned,” he said seriously, locking his infinitely darks eyes on hers.

“All of those who dare to fall in love hope that very thing, Severus.”

“Indeed.”

They stayed holding hands for a moment until they both let go. “Does it hurt? Your back, I mean?” she asked levelly as she wiped the remains of the tears from her face.

“Not usually. Being in bed for so long has caused me some pain. The aftereffects of the Cruciatus are decidedly worse.”

“The aftereffects of the Cruciatus?” she echoed blankly.

“Apparently the curse induces…lingering effects should one endure it as often as I have.”

 _His dreams…_ “I’m sorry.”

“Again, don’t be.”

“If I can help…”

“You already have,” he said and reached to turn on the wireless so that Beethoven’s Erioca danced in the air between them.

* * *

 

**Several Nights Later**

Hermione looked up as Severus tried to stifle a yawn. “Tired?” she asked.

“No. Tired of you asking me if I’m tired.”

“Then you’re up for a game of Muggle checkers?” she asked lightly.

“Must I suffer your deplorable checker skills both night and day? Perhaps I will agree to play with you if you assure me you will not wail and gnash your teeth when I obliterate you. I find it…tiresome,” he drawled.

“Ah. So my constant wailing is apparently the real reason you seem tired. I knew somehow you’d make it my fault.”

“If you were better at checkers, you wouldn’t feel the need to wail so much.”

“Since my skills are unlikely to improve within the next few minutes, perhaps you have another suggestion for how we can spend the evening…? Something more…stimulating?” she asked, cocking her own eyebrow in a mimic of his. Once she realized what she had said, she blushed at that in spite of herself.

He chuckled at her discomfort. “I see a concrete suggestion is in order,” he said, pausing for effect, “and one that Poppy would approve of should she walk in on us,” he added wickedly.

“Nonsense. I’m quite good at the Colloportus spell, as you know. We wouldn’t have to worry about her walking in should you want to do something…more dangerous.”

“Tempting. Do you have a suggestion then?” he said, leaning towards her.

“Hmmm. Well, it just so happens that brought you something, Severus. You may consider it…intoxicating.”

“It’s your rapier wit, no doubt,” he said deadpan.

“That is yours to enjoy nightly, free of charge. This is even more special.”

“I can hardly imagine anything more special than that.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed, then pulled a bottle of Firewhisky and two glasses out of her bag. “I thought you might like a drink.”

He smiled approvingly. “Appallingly good taste for one barely old enough to purchase such things.”

“Would you like some?”

“Indeed.”

Hermione closed and locked the door. “Just in case…” Severus cocked an eyebrow. “You know, to dissuade Poppy if she wants us to share.” She poured two glasses and handed one to him. Leaning forward she whispered, “I don’t think there’ll be enough.”

“I can see why you might think that,” he said as he eyed the full glass she handed him. “Miss Granger, are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Obviously,” she quipped. “To your health, Severus,” she said, throwing her head back and downing her entire glass.

He raised his glass to her. “To your hidden talent,” he responded, raising his glass then taking a drink of his own. “You are full of surprises, Gryffindor.”

“Yes, well. Perhaps if you got to know me better, you wouldn’t be surprised,” she said, pouring herself another.

“Sounds like a challenge.”

“Only if you’re up for such things.” She glanced at him. “What do you say we take turns? Ask each other questions as we enjoy our Firewhisky? To…get to know each other better.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You are a wicked little one, aren’t you? All right, I’m game.”

“I’m first then,” she said. “Let’s start with something simple. What is your favourite food?”

“Who gives a bloody fuck what my favourite food is?” he growled around a swallow of liquor.

“Me, obviously, Mr. Grouchy. We’re supposed to be finding out more about each other, Severus. Or don’t you remember?”

“Why don’t you ask me something interesting then?”

“Fine. Let me think.” She took a drink herself. “Did you always want to study potions?”

“Again, I thought you were going to ask me something interesting.”

“Well, why don’t you start then, since apparently I don’t understand what the word ‘interesting’ means,” she said sarcastically.

“Fine. My favourite food is curry. By my own hand.”

“What is your favourite way to eat your favourite food?”

“With a side of Firewhisky,” he said, lifting his glass to her for a refill.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Actually, I’m not certain what you meant,” he said evenly.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” she sighed.

He snorted. “My point exactly.”

Hermione ignored him. “What’s your favourite thing to do? And you can’t say ‘read’.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not _interesting_ ,” she responded snidely.

“Fine. Having you read to me.”

“Seriously, Severus. You are just trying to be difficult,” she said, exasperated.

He smirk-smiled at her. “See, now you know me better.” He paused for a moment. “Ask me one more question.”

Hermione gifted him a warning look. “OK, what’s your favourite time of day?”

“Whenever you’re here,” he said softly, looking her in the eye.

Her heart leapt. “Mine, too.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Severus will very briefly describe his view of Hermione during her latter school years. I tried to portray his viewpoint without our Potions Master sounding like he was interested in pursuing a student/teacher relationship. He did not want that—nor did he do that—in this particular story. Keep in mind, however, his attitude towards her must fit into the larger story arc. I believe you will find it to be sweet, nothing more. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience with me as this story is published. I do not write sequentially (yeah, I know it’s weird) so I wrote this chapter after completing some of the later ones, which is why it has taken a little longer to get to you. I just follow the Muse, and damn it all, she likes to play hopscotch in my brain.
> 
> Well, here goes.  
> -slbb

Hermione awoke in the comfort of her cot-transfigured chair, covered by the soft blanket Severus conjured for her when she curled up to sleep a few scant hours ago. She smiled: Merlin, last night was so _fun_. She glanced across to his bed at his relaxed, sleeping face, willing him to wake so she could once again lose herself in the infinite dark of his eyes.

Hermione’s heart was light. They had talked almost until sunrise, easily finishing the Firewhisky. _Damn_ , her Potions Master could _drink._ More than once she thought he might be leaning in to kiss her, but he never did. Even though he hadn’t, oh, the things she’d discovered last night about Severus Snape. Delicious things, like that he owns a Muggle motorcycle _(she had begged for a ride)_ , and predicable things, like that he knows the name of every plant that grows in Scotland _(well, he is a Potions Master)_. That he met Robert Plant after a Led Zepplin concert _(he snuck backstage)_. That he has an encyclopedic knowledge of Bordeaux and classical music _(a renaissance man of sorts)_. That he abhors…cucumbers and melons..?

And that he thinks the rat’s nest of hair on her head is… _adorable_.

She smiled, thinking back to the night before, when things had gotten a bit…well, _sloppy_.

_As Hermione reached for the Firewhisky bottle, she knocked into the lamp on his nightstand and it fell over with an echoing crash. He frowned at her. “Pomfrey’s going to kick you out,” he said matter-of-factly._

_“Sorry!”_

_“How about I…?” he said, turning to pick up his wand. It rolled off the table, landing on the floor near the lamp. “Fuck,” he muttered, reaching down to the tile. Suddenly he froze._

_“Severus?”_

_“Shhhh! I hear something.”_

_“It’s probably Poppy coming to offer you a warm bath and a back rub,” she said, giggling._

_“Hermione! Be quiet!” he hissed as he tried to reach his wand, almost falling out of bed and onto the floor himself._

_She clasped her hand over her mouth to stop her laughter from spilling out. “Can’t you just cast a Muffliato or something?” she asked, pulling her hand away for a second to speak._

_“That’s what I’m trying to do!” he said, exasperated, finally connecting with his wand and righting himself in bed. “Muffliato!”_

_“I know this Summoning Charm. It’s pretty handy. I could teach you…” she said in an exaggerated whisper, leaning towards him and still giggling._

_“Very funny.”_

_Smiling devilishly, she said, “I could also offer some one on one instruction on how to grasp your wand…”_

_“Grasp my wand?” he repeated, lifting his eyebrow._

_“Yes. You should wrap your fingers around it firmly. With just the right amount of pressure. I could show you.”_

_“I bet you could,” he said with a smirk._

_She took a sip of her Firewhisky. “So may I make some more noise now?”_

_He gifted her a mischievous smile._ _“As much as you like.”_

_“Hmm…maybe you can help me with that?”_

_“Trust me, Hermione, I’d be happy to help with that. But not tonight. So please stop teasing me.”_

_“Why?” she whined._

_“You know why.”_

_“Pretend I don’t know and tell me.”_

_“Fine. It makes things very hard for me.”_

_“What things get hard for you?” she asked innocently._

_His eyebrow rose even higher. “You are a very, very bad witch, Hermione.”_

_“Actually, I’m very good at what I do.”_

_“So I hear,” he quipped._

_“Now that wasn’t very nice.”_

_“I never claimed to be nice.” He reached for the Firewhisky bottle and knocked_ Watch Over Me _off the side table. “Fuck!”_

_“Severus, that’s no way to ask a lady for a shag.”_

_“Hermione!”_

_“If Poppy already thinks we’re having wild sex in here, thrashing around and breaking her lamps, we might as well. Why disappoint her?”_

_“I’m not going to shag you in the Hogwarts infirmary!”_

_She laughed lightheartedly at his frustration. “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying.”_

_He huffed a laugh. “You are going to kill me, witch.”_

_“I sure hope not. I like you far too much.”_

_He gifted her a strange look. “You despised me when you were a student. Admit it,” he pressed, pouring himself another Firewhisky._

_“For a while, yeah. Not the whole time. At first, I just wanted to impress you,” she said, holding out her glass for him to refill._

_“And later?” he asked, squinting at her over the rim of his drink._

_She stared at him, the Firewhisky bolstering her with enough courage to at least meet his eye. “I can’t talk about this.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“It’s too bloody embarrassing,” she said before taking a sip. “You know. After Lockhart and all.”_

_He just stared back at her with his jet black eyes, his half-smirk, half-smile hitting her hard in the pit of her belly._

_“OK,” she conceded. “Maybe I found you…_ intriguing _. That’s probably the best word.”_

_“A crush on yet another teacher? Why, Miss Granger. I’m appalled.”_

_“I said that I thought you were_ intriguing _. I didn’t say I had a crush on you.”_

_“You didn’t have to,” he said, with more smirk than smile._

_“And you never had a crush on any of your teachers when you were a student?” she countered._

_“I didn’t say that,” he said, fully smirking now._

_“Aha! I knew it.”_

_“We were talking about you, Hermione. Not me,” he corrected her._

_“Yeah, we were. But there was no chance I had a crush on you. I found you_ intriguing _. That’s completely different. Besides, you hated me. You called me an insufferable know-it-all. You said I had bad teeth.”_

_“Of course.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Why do you think?” he countered._

_“To keep me at a distance. In order to keep Harry safe.”_

_“It was as much for Potter’s safety as for reasons of my own.” His last words hung in the air between them._

_It took her a moment to understand. “You found me…?” she gasped._

_“Now Miss Granger, I would never be intrigued by a mere student,” he smirked._

_“That is quite unseemly, Professor Snape,” she teased in a lofty tone, ignoring his last comment completely._

_“More so than having a crush on a teacher?”_

_“Absolutely.” She downed the rest of her drink._

_He chuckled. “Fair enough. In my defense, it was only after you had reached of age. It doesn’t matter now. You are here. I am here._ We _are here.”_

_“Drinking,” she said raising her glass for him to refill._

_“Drinking.”_

_She smiled into the shadows between them as he poured. “And just how many students have caught your eye over the years, Professor Snape? I have to know what I’m dealing with here,” she teased._

_“Just you,” he answered softly._

_“And how can I be sure of that?” she asked just as softly._

_He paused for a moment, seemly weighing a decision. “Try something with me,” he said, an odd note in his voice. She looked at him curiously. “Do you know how to cast a Legilimens?” he asked, his tone becoming serious._

_“I believe so.”_

_“Then let me show you…” He pulled her to him, locking his fathomless eyes on hers. “Now.”_

_“Legilimens,” she whispered as she pointed her wand at him, trying to conceal her shock that this painfully private man would volunteer to open himself up to her._

_Images poured into her mind through the fog of Firewhisky, echoes of her laughing with Harry and Ron in the hallways of Hogwarts…raising an earnest hand in Potions class…evading Cormac at a Slug Club party in that dress she had loved so much. Images of reading her essays in the privacy of his chambers and chuckling good-naturedly at the content. But it hadn’t been the perspective that made her dizzy. Instead, it was the overwhelming emotion that permeated the memories…it wasn’t lust, it was more like tentative respect coloured with great sorrow; as if he was charmed by her, but recognized that the circumstances—whether it was his position, their respective ages, or the war—made approaching her impossible._

_In fact, the circumstances required that he push her away._

_And then somehow—she was not sure how—he bound the emotion of all his other teaching years at Hogwarts into a tiny capsule for her to examine and presented it to her. What she found when she opened it was only pain, grief, and an overwhelming loneliness that made her want to weep…but no attraction to anyone. No desire. No love. And then all the emotion had evaporated, as if it were never there._

_Even though she had cast the spell, he had broken the connection. “Severus…”_

_He simply stared at her, as if he were trying to decipher what her reaction might be. “Again,” he said determinately._

_She obeyed without hesitation. “Legilimens.”_

_The second time, he gifted her images from this summer: the initial surprise when she arrived the first afternoon; a secondary shock when she offered to read to him; astonishment both that she continued to attend him daily, and that he anticipated her visits more and more each day. Impressions of her filtered through the liquor: smiles, laughter, pointed sarcasm and teasing humor, then a stirring jealousy of Ron and a driving need to protect her from him, all permeated with self-doubt. Whenever he saw her, he’d been filled with a warmth that belied all that she once believed about the man sitting next to her. He simply enjoyed being with her. And the growing affection became a much deeper emotion…_

_Then…nothing. “Not all of it yet, angel,” he whispered and waited for her to speak._

_“Severus…” she managed, “thank you.”_

His eyes opened. “Good morning,” Severus said, his gravelly voice the only indication they had been awake nearly until dawn. He didn’t release her hand.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling even broader now. “I had fun last night.”

“It was an enjoyable evening.”

“We should do that again sometime, Severus.”

“I’m certain we will.”

* * *

 

It had been several days since sharing the bottle of Firewhisky, and part of her mind was still reeling from the images she had seen when she had cast the Legilimency spell. The rest of her settled in the knowledge that, at the very least, he cared for her. It was enough for now.

“What are you reading, Hermione?” Severus asked, breaking the warm evening’s silence and uprooting her from the open story in her hands.

“A Muggle travel journal. Why do you ask?”

“You’re smiling.”

“Oh!” she said, feeling her face flush. “I guess I was just imagining myself there.”

“Where?” Severus asked.

“India.”

“Have you been there?”

“No—I’ve just seen parts of France and Italy. But I would love to travel more. Have you?”

“No. Although traveling is one of my favourite things to do, unfortunately, my….commitments have prevented me from doing much in the last few years,” Severus replied, his lips twisting into a wry smile.

“I can imagine,” she replied, smiling herself.

“So you’ve not been to Greece then, Hermione?”

“No.”

“It’s pleasant. Delicious food. Beaches. Sun. Lovely people.”

“That doesn’t sound like your kind of place,” she teased.

He lifted an imperious eyebrow. “It’s almost as charming as Corsica. You should come explore it with me.”

“Corsica or Greece?” she said, bewildered.

“Both,” he said levelly.

It took her a second to realize that he was serious. “That sounds…lovely, Severus. When?”

“Any time you would like,” he said mischievously.

“How about right now? If you distract Poppy…” she said, raising an eyebrow in a mimic of his.

“I can think of thing or two that might distract her,” he said with a wicked smile.

“You are an evil man, Severus Snape,” Hermione said playfully. “But I like that about you.”

“You don’t say.”

* * *

 

**The Following Evening**

“You seem…distracted tonight. What’s wrong?” Severus asked her softly.

Too heavyhearted to read, Hermione had been staring out the window at the dim Hogwarts grounds under the starless sky. She turned to her Potions Master. “Today was my mum’s birthday. We always did something fun together on her birthday, just us two. I miss her,” she replied with a sigh.

“I’m sorry, Hermione.”

“Truthfully, I miss her all the time, but it’s especially hard today. I feel a little lost without her,” she admitted. “I try to take comfort in knowing she’s alive, even if I can’t spend time with her anymore.”

“You saved her life. I know for certain that the Dark Lord had targeted your parents to try to ferret out Potter. The Obliviate and the relocation were wise.”

She swallowed hard, fighting the tears that threatened. “I wouldn’t change it.”

“Given the opportunity, I would have saved my own mother her fate. I adored her.”

“Severus…” she asked softly, “what happened to her?”

He hesitated. “I wasn’t home. I found her…” he shifted his gaze toward the window near Hermione, as if he were searching to find the right words etched in the glass.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, feeling her eyes lose their battle with her tears.

Severus returned his focus to her, his dark eyes grim. “There are some things one can change, and some things one cannot. Witches and wizards can have a hard time understanding that. Since magic is the essence of who we are, we begin to believe we can change anything because there is so much we _can_ do with our magic. We forget that some things are beyond us.”

Severus paused for a moment, then continued. “I had a hard time accepting I couldn’t bring her back. That I hadn’t been there, that I hadn’t known it was going to happen. That there was nothing I could do, and nothing my magic could do to fix what had happened.

“My father was a bitter man. Why he ever married her, I cannot fathom. He forbid her to use magic after they were married. She did so anyway and taught me…regardless of the consequences. He would become…violent when he drank, which was quite often. They would have a row and he would beat her. I suspect the day she died, they were fighting and he pushed her down the stairs. When I found her, she had injuries that could not have come from the fall.” His eyes had become unseeing, focused on some long ago memory.

After a moment, his dark eyes sought hers. “My father died in a Muggle jail. I never saw him again.”

“When did it happen?”

“The summer between my fifth and sixth year at Hogwarts.” He took a drink from the water glass on his night table. “The NSPCC never even knew about me. I simply stayed at Hogwarts over the breaks, and I never went home again. I spent my summer between sixth and seventh year with the Malfoys.”

“It must have been so hard for you,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

“Forgive me. We were talking about your mother, Hermione. Not mine.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Severus.”

“And I am sorry for yours.” He reached for her hand. “In the end, it makes little difference how we were orphaned, just that we were.”

At that moment, Poppy bustled in the door and looked pointedly at their intertwined hands. She frowned. Hermione released her hold on her Potions Master and looked away. “Severus, are you drinking the amount of water I instructed you to?” the healer demanded briskly.

The mediwitch rounded on Hermione before Severus had a chance to respond. “And _Miss_ Granger. Your presence here is a distraction for my patient. So much so that he neglects a simple direction like _drinking water_. You may singlehandedly pose the largest threat to his full recovery. Should you wish to remain a welcome—“

“Poppy, the fault is entirely mine,” Severus cut across her. “Miss Granger is simply keeping me company, which is at least as vital to my recovery as this liquid.” He picked up the water and drank some more, eyeing Poppy over the rim of the glass. “I thank you for the reminder. In the future, I will do my best to follow your instructions more carefully. Now, if you will excuse us…?”

Poppy’s lips thinned but she left without further comment, nearly slamming the door behind her.

“That blasted witch never knocks,” he said ruefully.

“She despises me.”

“She might,” he conceded. “I’ve never seen her quite so…rude. She can be snide, but rude...she reserves that for you,” Severus said with a chuckle.

“It’s your fault.”

“How, pray tell, is it my fault?”

“It’s completely your fault. If you weren’t so damn attractive, she wouldn’t be so jealous of me,” she said hotly. “What if I need medical attention if I’m ever at Hogwarts? She’ll hex me rather than cure me!”

“’Damn attractive’? Merlin, Hermione, are you saying you find me attractive?” he teased, ignoring the rest of her rant.

“I…eh…” she sputtered. Without the courage of the Firewhisky in her belly, she was unable to prevent all the blood from draining from her face.

He chuckled again. “Let me continue to handle Poppy.” He reached for her, entwining his fingers tightly with hers. “And let me continue to hold your hand.”

* * *

 

“That’s Ron’s owl,” Hermione said, as Pigwidgeon teetered on the edge of the open infirmary window with a parchment in tow. The tiny owl landed next to Severus and stretched out his leg.

“Apparently,” he commented sourly as he untied the small bundle and unrolled it. “It’s from Mr. Potter,” he said, glancing over at Hermione. She cringed. “Now that was an odd look. Not looking forward to hearing what Mr. Potter has to say?”

“It’s not that. It’s just whenever I see post from him, I remember how his owl was killed the night we moved Harry from Privet Drive. He loved her. Having to use Ron’s must remind him that he lost Hedwig.”

“You care for him very much.”

“I do. He’s my best friend.”

“He was fortunate to have you,” Severus said and then turned his attention to the parchment.

“What does Harry want?” Hermione asked.

“It’s an encouragement for a quick recovery. I suspect Mr. Potter believes he is indebted to me, so he is trying to alleviate his guilt by offering his support now, since he did not in years past.”

“You were hard on him at Hogwarts, Severus.”

“True. It was easier for Dumbledore’s plan. Keeping him at a distance kept him safer. There were a few times when I felt Mr. Potter truly deserved my hatred. I realized, at some point, my attitude towards him was unfair.” Hermione looked at him curiously. “A son is not responsible for his father’s actions,” he said, twisting his lip into a rueful smile.

“No, they’re not,” Hermione whispered. “Severus…I wish things could have been different.”

“It was war, Hermione. We did what we had to do. All of us.”

“He hated you.”

“I know. It didn’t matter. It was more important to keep him as safe as possible.”

“Thank you for doing that. For keeping him safe.”

He gifted her a smile. “You are compassionate. And loyal. Traits I admire,” he said.

She smiled back at him. “And you are brave and trustworthy, strong, noble, and brilliant. Traits I admire,” Hermione replied.

They stared at each other for a long moment. His smile became…sly. “You have a couple other traits I admire, as well,” he said, his voice dipping into a low growl.

“Oh, do I?” she responded lightly.

“Oh, yes,” he breathed.

He reached out to gently trace the outline of her jaw. She closed her eyes, wanting no distractions, wanting only to feel the sensation of the tips of his fingers caressing her skin. She shivered. She felt him draw nearer to her, and ghost a kiss on her lips. _Sweet Merlin, please_ …

He threaded his hands in her hair, angling her face upward and slightly to the side. It was then that he truly kissed her. His lips were soft but firm, and after a moment of languid tenderness, he began to kiss her more deeply. His gentleness gave way to more urgent and insistent exploration as his tongue began driving against hers. She met him with her own need, desperate to communicate her desire for him. By the time he broke off, she was flushed, breathless, and aching.

“You taste…delicious,” he whispered.

She wasn’t sure she could speak. Instead, she threaded her own fingers through his soft hair, drew him towards her and into a second deep kiss. After a long moment, he broke off and dipped his head, his teeth nipping her neck. “More…” she begged raggedly.

“Soon…” he murmured, smiling around a kiss. “Soon, my angel.”

* * *

 

_Severus Snape kissed me._

Hermione was curled into a warm ball in her bed at Grimmauld Place, unable to stop a goofy smile from spreading across her face again. _Severus Snape kissed me._ Just the memory of his kiss made her lightheaded. She hadn’t much to compare it to—just the fumblings of a couple of teenage boys—but oh, Sweet Merlin, she didn’t need the comparison to know that Severus Snape was one incredible kisser.

She tried not to think about how he had become one.

How she had managed to pull herself away and return to Grimmauld Place was nothing short of a miracle. If her past self hadn’t threatened to arrive, Hermione was certain she would still be at the infirmary snogging him senseless. If he kisses like that, what would it be like to…?

Merlin, there wasn’t a chance in hell she was going to get any sleep.

* * *

 

A few long hours later, Hermione arrived at the infirmary to find her Potions Master sitting up in bed reading. It was as if he was waiting for her with some burning question on his mind.

“What happened to your other self last night? You wouldn't tell me,” he said without preamble when she walked in.

“It’s not important,” she said, shrugging and placing her rucksack on the floor.

“It’s important to me,” Severus said.

“I was supposed to go dancing. With my friends. It didn’t turn out to be a very pleasant evening, though.”

“Come. Let me make it up to you.” Severus rose from the bed and clasped her hand in his. “How about your first lesson...?” He aimed his wand at the door and it locked shut. He whispered another spell over his shoulder and the wireless kicked on, the sounds of _Blue Danube_ spilling out into the room. As he pulled her into an embrace, he lifted her right hand upward in his left, and placed his other one around her waist.

“How did you…?”

He ignored her. “The waltz is not difficult to master. Most of the steps are straightforward. As with many things, if you find you have been coupled with a…more experienced partner and allow them to lead…” Severus leaned his head to the side, feathering a path with his lips down her neck. _Sweet Merlin, I will not survive this._ “The rest is easy. One step leads to the next,” he growled softly.

”I can’t dance. You’re distracting me,” she managed.

“That’s entirely the point.” His lips had reached her shoulder. He used his teeth to move her thin shirt aside, exposing skin. He kissed her there.

She felt like she might melt. “And why would you assume I have less experience than you?” she whispered.

“Because you’re standing still. That’s not how one…waltzes.”

“Is that what we’re doing?”

“What else would we be doing?”

“I’m not sure. But then again, I’m really not sure of anything right now…” she said as he whispered more kisses up and down her neck.

“Certainly you must be sure of one or two things,” he breathed in her ear.

“Such as?”

“That you’ve wanted to dance with me for a very, very long time,” he said, his voice dangerous.

“True,” she replied softly.

“And I am the only partner you will engage in this particular kind of dance with.”

“Of course.”

“And now that you have completed the…fundamentals, you are ready for more advanced study.”

“Please...” The word escaped her in a half breath, half plea.

His lips met hers, gently at first. He let her right hand go and suddenly that hand was in her hair, guiding her gently so that she was in just the right position for him to kiss her thoroughly. He pulled her into him, so that he was pressed up against her; she felt him growl around his kiss and then break off. And then his teeth, Merlin _his teeth_ , started a path down her neck.

She snaked her forefinger under his belt and tugged at his waistband. “Get these off. Now,” she demanded.

“Not here…” he murmured.

“Then we need to leave…”

“Not yet,” he whispered.

“How many times are you going to refuse me?”

“How many times are you going to ask while I am still here?”

“I can be very persistent.”

“It won’t be very much longer. And all of this patience…and restraint…will be generously rewarded. I promise,” he said as he ran his thumb over her bra where left nipple was.

“I might die of want.”

“I’ve never seen that happen.”

“It’s because you always give in. Except with me, of course. You like stringing me along.”

“I like…that I’m always on your mind.”

“I never knew I could want something so much,” Hermione admitted.

“Trust me, angel,” he murmured. “I know exactly what you mean.”

* * *

 

“Tell me something about yourself that you’ve never told anyone else,” Severus said, startling Hermione out of her reverie the following evening.

She glanced at him. “No,” she replied flatly and focused her attention back on _A Study in Advanced Charms._

“You’re in a feisty mood today,” he chuckled.

She looked up from the textbook in her lap. “Today was the day that Natasha was here.”

Severus raised an imperious eyebrow. “Is that the reason for your mood?”

“I suppose,” she managed.

“Hermione…”

“Yes…?”

He stood up. “Walk with me.”

“Where?”

“Around the lake,” he said.

“It’s dark outside.”

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he stood up from his chair, walked over to her and reached down to close her book. He took her firmly by the hand and led her towards the door. A breeze whispered between them as they reached the path around the lake.

“She was in my chair,” Hermione said once they reached the water’s edge, finding she had to work very hard not to actually pout.

“Your chair?”

“My chair.”

“I had no idea you’d become so possessive of it,” he said. The moon’s light reflected off the surface of the water allowed her to discern the half-smirk, half-smile on his face.

“Well, it is my bed each night…”

“You don’t like to share your bed?” he asked, fully smiling now.

“Depends on who I’m sharing it with,” she said, tentatively smiling back at him. She felt her sullenness begin to evaporate into the night air.

“I see. And how is that evaluated?”

“Quite thoroughly. Not everyone has the opportunity.”

“Merlin, I hope not.”

“There are very strict requirements for applicants,” she quipped.

“Really? Do elaborate.”

“Applicants are very strictly vetted.”

“I like that word… _vetted_. A decidedly delicious word,” he growled wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they continued on the path. “It makes me hungry.”

“Yes. Vetted. Rigorously.”

“I like rigorously as well,” he said, his velvet voice dropping to a low rumble that made her belly flip flop.

“You like far too many things. Perhaps you are not discerning enough to apply,” she teased.

“Oh, quite the opposite, angel. Enjoying many things gives one a chance to…sample a variety of…pleasures. I am concerned, however.”

“About…?”

“That I need to…apply,” he said slowly, pulling her in closer to him.

“You may be…pre-approved,” she countered.

“Nothing would please me more.”

“Nothing…?” she asked, as playfully as she could manage.

“Perhaps I should rephrase…”

“Please do.”

He stopped walking, and turned to kiss her soundly, leaving her dizzy and aching. “Being pre-approved would…please me. But other things…more…enticing things…would please me as well,” he whispered as he broke the kiss.

“Merlin, Severus, you must stop doing that.”

“Stop doing what?” he said, feigning innocence.

“Kissing me until my brain turns to mush. Not to mention Poppy might see us out the window and hex me into oblivion.”

“It’s dark. Speaking of which, do you remember teasing me about my nightly visitor? Have you figured out who it was? The one who moves ‘your’ chair?”

She laughed. “I’m guessing it’s not Poppy.”

“No,” he said, “not even close.” And he pulled her to him to kiss her breathless again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a transitional chapter, dear readers. Hang in there. We had a bit of business to take care of before things get more...well, interesting (to say the least). Next chapter will be ready very soon.  
> -slbb

“Hermione.”

She looked up from the Daily Prophet’s gossip column. “Hmm?”

“It is clear that I will not be a guest at the Hogwarts Infirmary very much longer,” Severus said levelly.

“Not if Poppy has her way,” she teased, setting the paper aside.

He huffed a laugh. “Fair enough. But you must realize by now that I am quite accustomed to getting my own way,” he said mischievously.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and glanced over at his half eaten dinner tray. “Really? Did you order your own dinner tonight, or did Poppy order for you?”

“Regardless of who chose my dinner,” he replied a bit sourly, “I need to plan for my departure. At some time in the next several days, Poppy will confirm that I have recovered enough strength to Apparate. Should I…complete the test successfully,” he said, twisting his lips into a sneer, “I will be released from her care.” She looked at him curiously. “As I will not resume my position as Headmaster, once I leave the infirmary, I am in need of a permanent residence. Therefore, I would like to purchase a cottage,” he stated, “in Hogsmeade.”

She just smiled. “How can I help?”

“You can locate an appropriate one and buy it on my behalf.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve arranged for a member of Gringotts staff to meet with me here early tomorrow morning. Should you agree to assist me, I will name you as my representative and complete the necessary paperwork stating as much. Once I submit the documents, you will be able to purchase and sign the Note of Transfer for a property in my stead.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Hermione whispered.

He raised an eyebrow. “Truly, Hermione, I’m sending you on a tiresome errand. You should say, ‘bugger off’.”

She looked him in the eye. “Thank you for trusting me to find you a home.”

“And thank you for agreeing to search for one for me.” Severus paused for a moment. “The goblin I’m working with will introduce you to a broker who will locate properties for you to review. I require a garden area and a work room for brewing potions. I prefer a well-appointed kitchen, although that can be enhanced later should need be. It may be difficult to find one with modern amenities in Hogsmeade.”

“True.”

“Above all things, I value privacy. Therefore, I want a secluded—if not isolated—homestead. A far pace from the village, if at all possible.”

“Certainly.”

“And, Hermione…” He hesitated. “Ensure that it has space enough for two to live comfortably.” He cleared his throat. “Should I need to sell it, it would be easier to do so if it has more space, of course.”

“Of course.” She blushed in spite of herself, and changed the subject. “What is your budget?”

“You need not concern yourself with a budget,” Severus said evenly.

“Well then, I don’t have to concern myself with playing the National Lottery then for you, do I?” she teased. “I do have some Muggle newspapers with me that list future winning numbers, you know.”

He chuckled. “Imagine what that would do to the timeline.”

“Glorious things, from my point of view.”

“So you say.” He regarded her curiously. “From your responses, I see that I accomplished my goal.”

“Of finding a cottage? Yes.”

“And I also see from the look on your face that you have already seen it.”

“I have,” she said. “And I’ll secure it for you as soon as I have the paperwork in hand.”

* * *

 

Hermione was curled up in her bed in Grimmauld Place, thoughts too full for her to sleep quite yet. Severus had given her a copy of the paperwork naming her as his representative. She unrolled the parchment once again to reveal Severus’s pointy script.

_I, Severus Tobias Snape, hereby declare that Hermione Jean Granger may act on my behalf in any capacity whatsoever in regards to the purchase of a residence in my stead. She is fully authorized to make any and all decisions in regards to said purchase, including the hiring of a facilitator, the negotiations to purchase said property, and the arrangement of the transfer of funds to secure said property._

She was still stunned. This simple parchment in her hand said things to her he had not: she had earned his trust. Had he ever trusted someone with any of his personal affairs? What did it mean for him? For them, if anything?

Hermione thought back to her jealousy of Natasha Avery. Even if Severus’s interest in Natasha was feigned, it still hurt to witness it. But would she prefer? Severus fawning over her—insincerely, as he did with Natasha—or the letter in her hand? There was really no question, was there?

Tonight she would buy him his home. And she tried not to think about what it might be like to live with him there.

* * *

 

Hermione explained to the Gringotts goblin _yet again_ that she did not require a broker, thank-you-very-much, since she already knew which property she would like to purchase on Master Snape’s behalf. Yes, she was certain this particular property matched Master Snape’s requirements. And yes, she realized how irregular it was to purchase a property after only viewing one.

“I would like to purchase this one, Grukluk,” Hermione repeated. “ _This_ one.”

“Very well, Miss Granger,” he responded, sounding doubtful. “I must remind you that there are much grander properties in this area that on the market.”

“I understand. But this one will do nicely.”

“This will fulfil Master Snape’s requests?”

“Yes, it will,” she said, annoyed at the line of questions.

“ _All_ of his requirements?” asked the goblin.

“Yes, Grukluk.” Hermione sighed. Hadn’t the paperwork specified that she was authorized to make all the decisions regarding this purchase?

“Perhaps you should review other properties in the area before purchasing this one.”

“No, thank you. This one will be fine.”

“A decision of this magnitude must not be made in haste, Miss Granger.” Hermione rolled her eyes. She was beginning to understand why her Potions Master had called this a tiresome errand.

* * *

 

 Later that evening, Hermione opened the door to Severus’s private room to find that he was reading the Daily Prophet. He looked up when she entered.

“Grukluk owled me. It sounds as if you secured a cottage,” he said.

“I think you will find that it suits your needs. Beyond that, I think you will actually _like_ it,” she said and smiled as she placed her bag on the floor.

“Nearly impossible to imagine,” he said with a smirk. “Did you enjoy working with Grukluk?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily describe it as ‘enjoy’.”

“Did he have difficulty accepting your decision?”

“You could say that,” she said as she settled herself in her chair.

Severus chuckled. “I tried to warn you.” He folded the paper and put it down. “Minerva had the Hogwarts house elves pack my quarters and workroom. My belongings will be delivered early tomorrow morning.”

“May I set them out for you? Unpack them and get the cottage ready for you?”

“I will have the house elves set out the household goods, if you would wouldn’t mind unpacking the remainder, I would appreciate it.” He hesitated. “Hermione…”

“Yes…?” she said, glancing up from rummaging through her backpack.

“I think you should stay at the cottage during the day instead of Grimmauld. There will be virtually no chance that you will run into your past self there, or anyone else. You can ward the entire property. It will be a safe place for you when I can’t watch over you.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Severus. That is…it would be wonderful.”

“Make yourself comfortable there. When I am released from the infirmary, you will need to find somewhere else to go for a few hours during the day because I suspect _you_ will be there at that time.”

“I will. But that will only be for a week. Then I’ll have caught up to myself.”

“True.”

 

* * *

 

The following day, Hermione opened the door to Severus’s cottage to find all the furniture, lamps, and rugs already in place. The two built-in bookshelves in the sitting room were mostly filled; the drapes were hung. The sight of the familiar chocolate brown leather couch, the mahogany tables, and the emerald green curtains filled her with warmth. It felt like she had come _home_.

“Hello, miss.” A house elf she didn’t know scurried towards her and bowed deeply.

“Hello. I’m Hermione Granger.”

“Thank you, miss. You is known to us. You is Headmaster’s Special Miss. I am Bolpy.”

She chuckled at her title. “A pleasure to meet you, Bolpy. Are there any more of Professor Snape’s belongings to be unpacked and put away?”

“Yes, miss. We have them. They is the things Headmaster Snape instructed us to leave for his Special Miss.”

The house elf left the sitting room momentarily and returned with three small bags in hand, presumably both modified with the Undetectable Extension charm. “Thank you,” Hermione said, setting them aside for later, after the house elves were gone. She wandered around the cottage’s sitting room, smiling and content.

“Where would you like these, miss?” asked another house elf, holding up several wall hangings.

“Wherever you think best.”

“Thank you, miss.”

Hermione drifted into the kitchen. Bolpy stepped into the small room and bowed. “Miss, we is done.”

“Thank you. You may leave when you see fit. I will inform Professor Snape that you have finished.”

“Thank you, miss. We look forward to serving the Headmaster and Headmaster’s Special Miss.” And the house elves left one by one with resounding _CRACKS_.

Hermione sat down on the leather couch and began inspecting the first of the three bags Bolpy had given her. The contents weren’t surprising: several hundred books of every imaginable type, including rare and old volumes, presumably too precious for the elves to handle. She placed them in the space in the bookshelves in the sitting room, in the appropriate sections of his library, by subject then author.

In the second bag, Hermione found his personal items: shampoo, comb, and razor; his clothes; a collection of wands rolled up in a leather wand-keeper; two small framed photographs; and a locked box, approximately the size of a textbook. It wasn’t much. She wondered how many people would have so few personal belongings.

Hermione moved to the master bedroom and sat down on the bed to examine the photographs. The first was of a tall woman with Severus’s dark eyes and a boy of perhaps seven or eight: Severus and his mother, she supposed. He was holding her hand and waving emphatically into the camera. The woman smiled softly and periodically looked down at her son.

The second was a picture of Lily Evans.

She eyed it curiously. She hadn’t seen many photos of Harry’s mum, but yes, indeed, he shared her eyes. Lily was very young in the photo, maybe a third or fourth year student. She was dressed in Gryffindor robes and smiling shyly into the camera. Hermione wasn’t jealous to discover that Severus had kept a photo of Lily; instead, it felt bittersweet. She laid the photograph aside.

Next, she withdrew his clothes one by one from the bag. She chuckled. Each one of his robes, dress robes, overcoats, frock coats, and dress pants were exactly the same as all of the others—and jet black. Undershirts, underpants, socks—all black as well. Peering around in the bag, she also discovered a handful of exquisitely tailored white dress shirts that stood out against the dark. He owned a collection of destroyed denims, faded t-shirts (she chuckled at the ancient Led Zepplin shirt), two belts, and several pairs of both motorcycle and dragon hide boots, trainers, and…a swimsuit? But that was all.

With a furtive—albeit unnecessary—glance around the bedroom, she brought one of the frock coats close and took a deep breath. Ah, parchment…freshly mown grass…and _sandalwood_.

She placed the locked box on his dresser with the photographs, one on either side.

The third bag contained a sealed note addressed to her:

_Hermione,_

_This box contains the contents of my potions workroom. Please be extraordinarily careful with some of the jars as the contents are rare or poisonous. I trust that you will be able to alphabetize them without too much difficulty._

_-SS_

She could imagine his velvet voice saying _I trust that you will be able to alphabetize them without too much difficulty_ as his lips twisted into a perfect smirk. She huffed a laugh. Her Potions Master…sarcastic as ever.

By the time Hermione finished unpacking the contents of Severus’s potions room and putting them away, it was midafternoon and she was dirty and tired. Hermione looked around. There was still a lot she wanted to do. She dusted herself off, Apparated to a favourite alleyway near Camden Garden Centre, and made her way inside.

“Excuse me?” she said, once she located a store employee.

“Yes, miss?”

“I’m interested in purchasing these potted herbs,” Hermione said, handing the clerk her list. “Would you show me where they are?”

“Certainly. This way.”

“Here’s the Agrimony and Herb Bennet,” he said indicating the plants on the racks, “and here’s the Roseroot and Valerian. We’re out of Sanicle right now.”

“No problem.”

“I only have Centaury, Henbane, and Weld in seed form, no plants.”

“That’s fine. I’ll take the seeds.”

 

* * *

 

Hermione Apparated back to the cottage, thankful for the warm afternoon sunlight. She donned some older denims she had stashed in her bag and set about deciding where in the garden to plant the seedlings.

How she missed Severus today. She could just imagine him sitting on the stone bench watching her, a slow smile in his dark eyes. What will he say once he discovers what she’d been doing? Will he be angry that she had presumed to plant in his new garden? Did she choose the right varieties? And the right places for them? What if he preferred the Valerian on the west side?

She took a deep breath. _Get ahold of yourself, Hermione. You’re being a tad ridiculous. He won’t care what side of the garden the Valerian is on. Besides, Severus can always move it later._

 _Severus_. She smiled as she began digging the holes for the Roseroot. _Her Potions Master._ And, according to the house elves, she was his _Special Miss_. Hmmm… _Master Snape and His Special Miss…Master and Mrs. Severus Snape…Mrs. Hermione Snape…_ They all resonated nicely, didn’t they? Her Potions Master would look delicious with a ring on his finger. Her ring. She huffed a laugh. At nearly twenty years old—according to those bureaucrats at the Ministry anyway—she was not past daydreaming about a future husband, like some lovesick schoolgirl. Next she’d be doodling his name on the margin of a notebook. Merlin, imagine what he’d say if he happened upon that?

 _I’m out of my bloody mind. He will never bond me. Stop thinking about it and concentrate on planting the seedlings, Hermione._ But if a bonding wasn’t in the future for her and her Potions Master, what _would_ happen between them?

This—whatever _this_ was—was no one-sided schoolgirl crush. She was in love with him. And every signal he had given her screamed they would only get closer once he left the infirmary. At the least, they would become lovers very, very soon. What would it be like to share his bed? His hands tangled in her hair, his skin on hers, his lean body pressing down on hers…but would she even be here in the spring to see the results of today’s hard work? Or would he dismiss her when he grew tired of her company? Or when he discovered she had no experience to call on to please him?

Well, she supposed, she would never catch up to Severus’s experience with members of the opposite sex. And as far as Lily Potter was concerned, she forced herself to take Severus at his word: he said he _loved_ her, not that he _loves_ her. What was that trite Muggle saying? There’s more room in a broken heart? Besides, how ridiculous would it be to be jealous of someone on the other side of the veil?

Merlin, her thoughts were a jumbled mess. She needed a diversion. _Of course_. She knew just the right thing to distract her. “Expecto Patronum,” she muttered, pointing her wand toward the green between the garden and the back door of the cottage. To her infinite surprise, the mist that erupted from her wand did not form her familiar otter. Instead, a large silver cat peered back at her knowingly. She gasped. Sweet Merlin, what on earth had happened to her otter? “Well, look at you,” she said to her Patronus. “Pleasure to meet you, bobcat.”

In response, the bobcat padded over to her, brushed up against her legs, and curled up to rest in the dirt.

Tonks’ Patronus had changed from a jackrabbit to a wolf when she fell in love with Remus. Could hers have changed for the same reason? If that was true, why a bobcat? Shouldn’t it be some type of a deer, or, Sweet Merlin help her, a kind of snake?

She smiled at the bobcat curled up nearby. Perhaps after every tragedy she endured from the war, every wound left on her soul, all the playfulness in her magic was gone.

The sun was starting its slow decent toward the horizon, so she set about getting more dirt under her fingernails.

* * *

 

By the time Hermione arrived at the infirmary, Severus was already asleep, Beethoven softly emanating from her wireless. She warded the door behind her and curled up beside him in the warm bed. She felt him shift to line her back with his chest and threaded her fingers in his.

“Goodnight, angel,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Severus,” she whispered and closed her eyes to sleep next to the man she loved.

 


	9. Chapter 9

“It is…generous of you, Natasha, but I must decline,” Severus said evenly.

“Really, Severus, I never pegged you as a prude.”

“Nor am I one.”

Hearing the unmistakable voice of Natasha Avery, Hermione stepped into the shadows outside his door before she could be seen. Hermione was still able to discern her Potions Master and his… _guest_ from her vantage point. Natasha was sitting on Severus’s bed. Hermione desperately wished Natasha was back in her chair, the irony of the wish not lost on her.

“Am I not enticing enough for you?” Natasha leaned over him and ran her fingernails from the inside of his wrist, twisting up his bare arm to his elbow. She pulled Severus’s hand towards her mouth, licking her lips then kissing the tips of each of his fingers one by one. Hermione thought of state of her own fingernails after spending most of yesterday afternoon preparing Severus’s garden—and blanched.

He stared at Natasha’s face dispassionately. “Obviously, you are an attractive witch. No wizard would argue that fact.”

“Then why decline, Severus? It would be but a taste of what I could do for you. No strings attached,” she purred.

“No strings attached? I thought we agreed to be honest here.”

Natasha laughed. It was a high pitched sound that reminded Hermione of bells tinkling. Hermione supposed it might sound pleasant to the right wizard. She hoped Severus was not that wizard. “ _Honestly_ , we don’t have to _agree_ to anything more than…an _exploration_ for now, at least. An experiment to see whether we are compatible, if you will.”

“An experiment,” he echoed.

“You have a reputation of indulging in…unconventional things,” she said with an evil smile. “It just so happens my tastes run in the same direction.” She pulled his hand to her mouth again, licked her lips, and wrapped her lips around his index finger, pushing it entirely inside and drawing it out languidly, leaving a trail of lipstick behind.

He cocked an eyebrow but otherwise did not react. “And you have a reputation of indulging in…everything.”

She tittered a laugh. “True,” she said, “but I do have my favourite things.” She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “Especially…” Hermione couldn’t hear the rest. Nor did she want to. Natasha stopped whispering, but still leaned over him and nipped his ear.

“I’m afraid I must still decline,” he said flatly.

“Very well, then.” She pouted, sitting up straighter on the edge of the bed. “But you never answered my question. Why refuse me?” she asked.

He paused. “My reasons are my own.”

“I see.” Natasha rose. “Best of luck then, Severus,” she said, her voice becoming somewhat colder with each word. She strode towards the door without a backward glance. Hermione ducked behind a sideboard filled with bottles of potions and stayed there, too weak in the knees to stand.

“Hermione,” he called softly, once the sound of Natasha’s retreat had faded into silence.

Of course he knew she was there. She convinced herself to move out of the shadows and presented herself to him in the doorway.

“Forgive me,” Severus said, his velvet voice catching on the words.

“Forgive you?” Hermione walked into the room in the semidarkness.

“For not telling her the real reason I refused her.”

“The real reason?” she repeated numbly.

“She will discover what it is before long. Rather _who_ it is. Natasha’s attention span is rather short, however. It is my hope that she has moved on before realizing she lost the wizard she wanted for her latest plaything to a Muggleborn.” He looked down at his index finger, frowned, and silently vanished the lipstick.

“It sounds as though she was interested in more than that. Sounds like she was vying for something more permanent.” Hermione tried to keep the petulance out of her voice. She didn’t think she succeeded.

“Likely, as I suspected when she visited me when you two met. She desires a husband, and thinks she’s found one to suit her. It doesn’t matter. But Natasha can be rather…spiteful when she doesn’t get her way. I would spare you that. I have no interest in reciprocating her advances; my affections lie elsewhere. I believe we spoke of this matter already…?”

“I suppose.”

“Hermione…” She looked at him then, truly looked. She saw the pain in his eyes, even in the half-dark. “I will not lose you over some ill-timed attempt by a desperate witch to get in my bed.”

“Severus, I—“

“Come here.”

Although her heart was conflicted, her feet obeyed. As she stood at the edge of the bed, Severus looked up at her and pulled the linens open. “Let me…may I…would you?” he stumbled. “There’s room.”

Laying her bag on her chair, she yanked off her trainers, and crawled into the warmth with him, turning to place her back against his chest. She settled into his arms, vaguely wondering what she had tacitly agreed to. He raised his wand to lock the door.

“There seems to be enough room for me in your bed. But is there room for me in your life, Severus? What do you want?” she whispered.

“What do I want?” he chuckled. “I can’t recall anyone even asking me that before.” He drew her closer, pressing his arms around her more tightly. He paused for a moment, then continued, “I want…to fall asleep holding your hand—and wake up with it still in mine—for the rest of my life. I want to see your ridiculous hair spilling all over your pillow in the bed we share. I want to shape my life around yours, to craft a life together that will fulfill both of our desires.” And the world fell away beneath her, granting her just enough of a fleeting, backward glance to recognize that this was the breath when everything between them changed from _possible_ to _probable_. _They would try._ The moment left her giddy. And terrified.

He leaned towards her to kiss her hair, his velvet voice soft and trembling from behind her. “Right now, I want to make love to you. But I don’t want the first time to be here, in the infirmary, and tonight, after that witch tried to seduce me.” At his words, her stomach dropped. She found she couldn’t speak; instead, she entwined her fingers more tightly in his as a reply.

He went on, his voice becoming steadier, “I want to make love to you in my bed—in our bed—for hours and hours on end. I want to lie with you on soft rugs in front of a fire, and kiss you until we both can no longer speak. And everything else you and I dare imagine.”

She held her breath as she felt his, warm and tender, caressing her hair. He continued, “I want to make you breakfast in bed, and fill the kitchen with the smell of jasmine tea. I want to wash your hair in the shower every morning. I want to fulfill your every desire, your every wish, your every whim.” She heard him swallow, as if this next admission, this confession, was hard for him. “I don’t give my heart easily, Hermione. Nor am I easily distracted. But I am yours, and I will be yours for as long as you’ll have me, and far past that, as well.

“Understand that nothing…no one will ever come between you and I. Not Lily Evans. And certainly not Natasha Avery.”

Hermione let herself breathe again and smiled into the semidarkness. “Not even Poppy?” she teased.

He chuckled deeply. “Not even Poppy.”

She rolled over to face him, and reached up to caress his face. She closed her eyes as his lips touched hers and he kissed her tenderly. She turned away from him, snuggling her back into his warmth.

“Let me hold you while you sleep,” he whispered and she closed her eyes to drift away in the safety of his arms.

* * *

 

Hermione awoke to find herself in exactly the same position as when she fell asleep, spooned up against her Potions Master’s lean frame with one of his arms under her neck and the other encircling her waist. She sensed that he was already awake, and murmured a cleansing spell for her morning mouth. “Good morning,” she whispered.

“Good morning,” Severus said. She rolled over to face him. His fathomless black eyes were gentle. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than I have in a long time.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

She leaned closer and he kissed her gently. “We need to get you out of this bloody infirmary,” she said.

“Such language from such an angel…” He took her face in his hands and kissed her thoroughly. Her stomach flipped.

“Now you’re not being nice…” she said breathlessly when he was through twisting her brain into mush.

“Who me?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Teasing a girl like that. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Consider me horribly abashed.” He kissed her again. “Beside myself with shame.”

“Regret.”

“Oh, no…never, ever that,” he said, smiling wickedly and running the tips of his fingers over her shirt against her nipples.

“Merlin, Severus, you have to stop. You’re killing me,” she moaned.

“A reprimand from the Daily Prophet’s most eligible witch? I seem to remember you crawling into this bed quite on your own.”

“Perhaps I was under the Imperious.”

“Oh, I doubt that. I’ve never needed to use the Imperious on any witch before,” he said with a smirk.

“I am not just any witch. And may I suggest that you don’t mention any other witches while I am lying in bed next to you?”

“Jealous, are we?” he asked, raising a teasing eyebrow.

“Keep talking about them and I might use the Time Turner and erase all the witches who have ever gotten within a foot of you.”

“It would be a shame to lose Poppy just because she changed a bandage or two,” he mused.

“It wouldn’t be the bandages that would do her in. It would be the sponge baths.”

“You would deprive me of my sponge baths? When it’s my favourite time of day?”

“Hmmm. I thought your favourite time of day was when I was here?” she quipped. He smiled at her like a Cheshire cat. “What?”

“I was just imaging you giving me a sponge bath.”

“Severus!”

He laughed. “I suppose I’ll have to suffer Poppy’s until I leave.”

* * *

 

When Hermione had finally forced herself out of his bed in the infirmary—only because it was time for Poppy to make her rounds—she Apparated to the cottage to prepare for her day. Damn, as if she could function with her thoughts in such a delightful jumble.

_...I am yours, and I will be yours for as long as you’ll have me, and far past that, as well…_

She had forgotten to tell him about her bobcat. Fuck, she would forget how to tie her trainers if he kept saying things like that. It was the second night in a row that she had slept next to him…in his bed…in his arms. Merlin, it had been the best night of her life. And she hadn’t even been awake for most of it.

_OK, Hermione, get a grip. You have stuff to do today._

Pulling on her coat, she set out to walk to Hogsmeade village to purchase stores for the pantry and refrigerator. Once she brought home what they needed— _he_ needed, she corrected herself—she had one more shopping trip to do for a somewhat of a…housewarming gift.

When she arrived at Foyles, she strode directly to the reference section. Would he remember her tease?

“Just the dictionary today, miss?” said the clerk as she placed the book at the counter to pay.

“Yes, thank you.”

Now she just needed to figure out how to charm the book into the way she wanted it, and decide where to keep it hidden until she caught up to herself in time.

* * *

 

Hermione walked in to his room in the infirmary to find Severus standing and looking out onto the Hogwarts grounds. Had he been watching for her? Her breath caught. His lean form silhouetted by the dark window was so extraordinarily _sexy_. He turned when he heard her enter. “Hello.”

“Hello.” She smiled and walked over to stand next to him. “You look ready to go home.”

“Yes,” he sighed, softening it with a smile. “It has been a long road.” He reached down to brush a curl away from her face.

“It has, Severus,” she responded, unable to keep herself from drawing closer to him. “How have you managed to keep it straight? I mean, my past self sees you every afternoon. But I see you every night. Don’t you ever get confused?”

He huffed one of those laughs she adored. “I almost kissed you as we were walking to the lake earlier today. Do you remember?” he asked, his infinitely dark eyes sparkling with amusement.

“In fact, I do. I would have liked that, you know. I feel a distinct loss from what might have been. My heart may not recover.”

“Mine either. Can I make it up to you now?” he whispered, pulling her to him.

“Now, and later today, and tomorrow, and the day after that…”

It was all she was able to say before his lips were on hers.

* * *

 

“Hermione, have you ever taken anyone to your bed?” Severus asked, his velvet voice gentle but serious.

It was his last night in the Hogwarts infirmary. She was laying in his arms, comfortable, warm, and content. “No, Severus,” she answered softly.

“So I will tell you what will happen between us tomorrow.”

“Oh.” It was all she could manage.

“When you are alone tomorrow, spending your morning at the cottage while I am still here, I want you in my bed. I want you there remembering everything that I am about to describe to you right now. I want you imagining all that will happen between us, and everything you will feel. I want you…preparing for me…for us…” He took her index finger and placed the tip of it in between his lips and touched it to his tongue. She got his message and flushed.

“When you arrive tomorrow night, we will have dinner and wine,” he whispered. “When we have had our fill, I will take you to my bed and undress you. And when I have explored all of you, and you are begging for the rest of me, I will enter you slowly, watching every nuance on your face as we become one for the first time.”

Hermione swallowed then bit her lip.

“When we have…finished there, I will fold you over the edge of my bed and claim you properly, hard and fast, gripping you by a handful of your adorable hair. The only sensations left for you will be the sound of my name on your lips and the feeling of your lover taking you from behind.” His whisper had turned into a growl, wrapping itself around her belly and refusing to let her go.

A moan escaped her. “I don’t want to wait,” she whispered.

“I know, angel,” he breathed. “I know.”

He kissed her hair. “Then when we are ready, I will draw you a warm bath, and after we have enjoyed…additional pleasures there, I will carry you back to my bed where I will wrap my arms around you until we both fall asleep.

“Does that sound…all right with you?”

“Severus,” she said, finally finding her voice, “it sounds perfect.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for your lovely reviews, kudos, and bookmarks! All of those feed the hungry Muse. And thank you, dearest readers, for your patience. Chapter 11 is almost polished and will be posted this week.
> 
> Warning: MATURE. Here be *LEMONS* (or what feels like an entire lemon tree). You've been warned. :)
> 
> Many thanks to my wonderful betas Catahoulaqueen, anhaas52009 and Aislin Elizabeth. This chapter would not be the same without their input.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading.
> 
> -slbb

Wrapping her mind around that fact that she was very likely going to sleep with Severus the following day had kept Hermione awake the night before for what seemed like hours. His whispered words had possessed her, haunting every muscle in her body and sparking a desire she never knew she was capable of. Since tearing herself out of his infirmary bed this morning, she’d barely been able to sit still. She’d wanted to latch her aching jaw on him and not let go. Not to mention that she’d had to change her panties twice.

_“…I will fold you over the edge of my bed and claim you properly, hard and fast, gripping you by a handful of your adorable hair…”_

Who the hell says that?

Hermione smiled ruefully. That bastard knew exactly what he was doing to her.

At least she was at the cottage now. And, coincidentally…alone.

The pantry and refrigerator were stocked. The seedlings were watered. Everything Severus had set aside for her, she’d unpacked. The house elves had tidied up everything else…so what should she do? She wandered into his bedroom, and stood there, staring at his big, mahogany bed. Would their first time together be right there?

Merlin, it was a monstrous thing.

Different words tugged at her now, ones that were more than a suggestion, yet not quite a command: _“…I want you there remembering everything that I am about to describe to you right now. I want you imagining all that will happen between us, and everything you will feel. I want you…preparing for me…for us…"_

At one time, she would have never considered doing what he had asked her to do. At one time, if there was any… _exploration_ of her body that was going to be done, someone else was going to be the one to do it, thank-you-very-much.

Things were a bit…different now, though. What if his suggestion calmed some of her mounting impatience that he wasn’t there yet, shagging her senseless? What if it satisfied her enough to keep her from losing her mind as she waited for the day to pass? What if it taught her the tiniest bit about her own body, which might, in turn, help her please him?

Decision made, Hermione locked the door and wandlessly closed the shades, then stripped. She smiled: the Hogwarts house elves had already put linens on the bed. She pulled back the covers and climbed in, letting the cool, soft sheets and the perfect mattress surround her. _Bliss_. As she closed her eyes, she could still smell sandalwood there among the pillows and blankets, even though the crisp white sheets were clean.

She had never done this in her life.

_All right, breathe. And think about what he told you to. Tons of people do this all the time. So it’s probably a lot of fun, right?_

_She snuck her index finger down between her legs and jumped._ _Bloody hell, too cold!_ _She put her finger in her mouth to warm it and tried again. She couldn’t quite convince herself to move it around, so she felt around until she found the most sensitive place…and left it there._ _Hmm…that’s pleasant._

 _Hermione closed her eyes. She called to mind Severus’s urgent kisses; she imagined the weight of him pressing down on her; she pictured him there with her, that he was one the touching her…and she started to explore._ _Sweet Merlin, that is much better than pleasant_ _. She started to move her finger more urgently…if only he were here gripping her hair…she felt a pulsing, a heat getting stronger…there was no way she was stopping now…gods, she was so wet, was she going to mess the clean sheets?_ _Severus…_

And then, much to her surprise, her body was turning inside out; she was collapsing inward and falling into a warm abyss. Suddenly, every muscle in her body went rigid. _Oh!_ She bit her lip to keep herself from crying out.

She smiled as she tried to still her breath, the echoes of her climax resonating throughout her. _If that’s anything at all like what’s going to be like when I’m with him later, it’s going to be one hell of a fabulous evening._ She glanced at the clock. Her past self was on her way to the cottage with Severus. It was time to leave to go back to Grimmauld Place.

And try to get her head back on straight.

* * *

 

A half an hour later, Hermione stared, dismayed, into the chaos that she called her bedroom. _Even if I could find every piece of clothing I owned in this mess, it wouldn’t matter. There’s nothing here for me to wear tonight._

Natasha Avery had looked gorgeous in her frock several nights ago—even Severus had admitted it. Maybe she wasn’t Natasha, but perhaps her worn out trainers and neglected jumper weren’t necessarily helping matters. And they certainly wouldn’t do for this evening’s…festivities.

Hermione needed—okay, _wanted_ —a frock that would rival Natasha’s to welcome Severus home. Her birthday was coming up soon, and apparently Hermione had a bit of shopping to do. And Harrods opened at 10.

* * *

 

“This one today, miss?”

“Yes, thank you. This one will do nicely,” she responded to the sales clerk as she opened her bag to locate her wallet.

Hermione had spent the better part of an hour trying on dresses. She had finally decided on one that was green, flowy and had a deep V-neck. It showed off her décolletage nicely; she thought Severus would like it—for the sixty seconds she would be wearing it before he ripped it off her. Okay, well, if they behaved themselves, it should last through dinner at least.

“Can you direct me to the lingerie section?” she asked the sales lady, trying her best not to blush.

When she found her way to the intimates, she was overwhelmed. It seemed like hundreds of overpriced bits of lace were hung in every direction. How could she choose? _Women are insane. Or maybe it’s the men? Merlin, is this scrap of lace even classify as a panty?_

 _What about these red ones? Holy shit, is that the price? What if he rips—or vanishes—them?_ She shook her head. _Get a grip, Hermione. Who gives a fuck what he does to your panties as long as he gets inside them? Okay. Well, maybe not red then…_

And she went about searching for something in deep green lace.

* * *

 

Several hours later, Hermione Apparated to the front yard of the cottage, almost too jittery to stand.

 _What do I do? Do I knock? Just walk in?_ She decided on a compromise: knocking while opening the front door. “Severus…?” she called into the sitting room.

A slow fire moved in the fireplace, sending a warm light into the corners the small room. White orchids and white candles adorned the tables. She wandered into the adjacent room; the dining room table had been set with a white tablecloth, sterling place settings, and wine glasses. Apparently, he’d been busy preparing for her.

Severus didn’t seem to be inside. She walked out the back of the cottage to find him standing near the garden. “Hermione,” he said, greeting her with a soft smile. He was wearing slim black dress pants and a white long sleeve shirt. Merlin’s bloody balls and all his followers, he looked… _delicious_. If he didn’t shag her tonight, she might have to do something drastic. Like what she did earlier. _Gods_.

She gulped. “Hello.”

“Did you do this?” he said, indicating the garden.

“I did…”

“Thank you.”

A CRACK coming from inside the house startled her. He chuckled. “What—“ she began.

He approached her and reached for her hand. “Let’s go in.”

Bolpy and three other house elves were in the kitchen placing various covered dishes and bottles of wine on the counter. “Headmaster,” he said, bowing to Severus, “and Headmaster’s Special Miss.”

“Hello, Bolpy,” Hermione said, smiling back at the bent over elf.

“You may leave the wine and the meal in here. I will serve Miss Granger. That will be all.” Dismissed, the house elves bowed again and left, one by one, with loud CRACKS.

“That was nice of them.”

“There are some elves bound to serve the Headmaster even if he doesn’t reside at Hogwarts,” he said with another slow smile.

“I see you had them bring several bottles of wine,” she commented playfully.

“I wanted to have some, too,” he smirked.

She huffed a laugh and took a look at the bottle. “Veuve Clicquot La Grande Dame,” she said. “Sounds yummy.”

“I thought we might enjoy some champagne to celebrate my release. And perhaps some other things.”

“And perhaps some other things,” she echoed, the ache for his touch wrapping itself around her belly and spiraling downward. Her new thong would be in a very deplorable state before long. If she didn’t throw him on the table and shag him senseless before dinner, she had a lot more self-control then she ever imagined.

* * *

 

“Trying to blend in with the furnishings, _Miss Granger_?”

Hermione had wandered away from the kitchen at his insistence that she not help. She had been standing near a curtained window in the sitting room looking out into the garden while he put the final touches on their meal. She turned. Severus was approaching her with two glasses of champagne in hand and a grand smirk on his face.

“Perhaps a few Gryffindor red curtains around here might help you see me better, _Professor_.”

“I’m afraid if you believe you will ever see red in this home, you are quite mistaken. Besides,” he said, handing her a glass, “I never fail to notice you.”

“So you’ve said,” she replied with a smirk of her own.

“So I’ve said,” he echoed, coming ever closer. “Let me also say that you look stunning this evening. Green is definitely your colour.”

“Perhaps it is the dress that has charmed you. Not me.”

“Perhaps the thing to do is remove your dress. Then we could test your theory. I say you will still be stunning with the dress on my floor.” He pulled her into a breathless kiss. “However, I do enjoy seeing you wrapped in green,” he murmured as he broke the kiss.

“Perhaps you would also enjoy seeing me wrapped in something else?” she whispered.

“I would…” He bent and kissed her neck. “And I have a suggestion for what that might be.”

She closed her eyes. “I’m sure you do.”

“However,” he said, pulling away, “I suspect we should dine now lest we become more…distracted.”

“Always telling me no,” she sighed.

“Not always, angel. Not always.”

* * *

 

The Hogwarts house elves had outdone themselves. Hermione could not decide whether the dinner or the wine was more delicious. When she had taken the last bite of her crème brulee and a final sip of champagne, she said, “That was perfect.”

Severus raised an imperious eyebrow. “Perfect?”

“Yes. Perfect.”

“I think you may change your mind.”

“Really?” she said, raising her own eyebrow.

“There are much better things on the way.” He rose from the table. “Come here.” Severus offered her his outstretched hand and she took it. He helped her to standing, then he kissed her tenderly.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered.

“I am.”

“You can change your mind at any moment.”

“I know.” She smiled softly at him. “I don’t want to, though.”

He led her to the bedroom by the hand, reaching back to unzip her dress in one languid pull. The flowy green dress pooled at her feet, and Hermione stepped out of it and tossed her heels out of the way.

He stared at her with unreadable eyes. He continued to watch her as he began to unbutton his shirt. “Let me,” she whispered, closing the space between them and reaching up to take over. When his buttons were undone, she helped pull his shirt off, leaving his undershirt. He pulled it over his head. _Oh…_

Before Hermione could wrap her mind around the fact that he was standing in her panties and bra in front of a nearly naked Severus Snape, his lips were on hers, urgent and commanding. As he kissed her, he unbuckled his belt. She fumbled to find the button on his trousers and finally freed it; he stepped out of them and his underwear then pulled her into the bed.

Hermione laid on her back as Severus positioned himself above her, his fathomless eyes locked on hers. He cocked an eyebrow and a mischievous smile spread across his face. Hermione felt her bra unhook underneath her and she raised her own eyebrow at him. She pulled the straps halfway down her arms, leaving the rest to him. He removed her bra, brushing his fingertips against her nipples. “Exquisite,” he murmured.

He glanced up at her with a gorgeous smirk and asked in his velvet voice, “So how was your afternoon, angel? Did you use that vivid imagination of yours and find yourself something to do?”

She swallowed. “I did.”

“The scent of you is here,” he growled, kissing a path down her belly. “Next time, I want to be here. Watching you.”

“Oh.” She thought she might die. Of embarrassment. Of want. Of desire. Of…all of them at once. _At least that would put me out of this sweet agony._

He continued to kiss her, traveling down her body with each ghosted brush of his lips. As he reached her hips, he helped her wiggle out of the tiny bit of lace that had been the only thing left separating her skin from his. When his mouth finally reached the folds between her legs, he dragged his tongue across them, exploring her gently at first. She hitched a breath. His tongue was warm and soft; after a few moments of blissful, tender discovery, it became more urgent, pressing in to match the rhythm of her heartbeat.

He raked his hands down her inner thighs, keeping his tongue at her center. _And I thought my brain turned to mush when he kissed me…_ Although her mind was a mess—a beautiful, godawful mess—she managed not to fidget.

“I’m going to touch you,” he said, pulling away slightly.

“Please…” she begged, barely able to speak.

Then, slowly, he pushed his finger inside her warmth. She gasped and arched her back, grabbing the sheets with fists on either side. As he slipped in his second finger, she gasped again. “Fuck,” escaped her lips. It was all she could take. She tried to sit up. “I want you. _Now_.”

Severus gifted her a slow smile as he drew away. “I think…let’s…” He helped her up to standing, then he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Come here,” he whispered, pulling her towards his lap. She climbed on, facing him.

Hermione lowered her body onto his slowly, plummeting into the infinite dark of his eyes.

There was nothing except the sensation of him between her thighs: all else had fallen away. She wanted to fold herself into the feeling, to live within it, forever. This feeling was all she was and all she could ever become; it was as if there would never be more to her than the knowledge of how he felt inside her, this sensation of his skin dragging against hers, tugging at hers. The echo of his breath in her ear and the scent of the man she adored within her made her heart wild with joy.

“Don’t. Move,” he rasped though gritted teeth. He had closed his eyes momentarily, his hands grasping each of her hips at the bone, pressing hard into her flesh.

 _Merlin, why on earth would I move?_ She might choose never to move again. Everything was perfect right where she was, thank-you-very-much.

Severus opened his black eyes once more and she saw such hunger there, it made her own jaw ache with the desire for _more_. She lifted herself up a fraction, tilting her head back so her breasts were at his mouth. He leapt at one hungrily, his lips and tongue caressing it. After a moment, he drew back.

Calloused fingertips dug into her hips even harder than they had moments before; now those hands were slowly guiding her up and down. His flesh was dragging along hers within her, tearing all higher thought away, pulling it down and dissolving it into the warmth between her legs. Oh, Merlin, this, _this_ was why she should move…she wanted more of him…her body, her mind, collapsed into the need to have him, all of him, now that they were one.

He shuddered as her name tore out his lips, barely discernable. “Shite, Hermione,” he said raggedly. “Holy fuck.” She felt his fingers release her hips and then they were in her hair, dragging her into a deep kiss.

Hermione laid down on the bed and Severus slipped into the sheets next to her, turning on his side so they were face to face. He simply stared at her.

Minutes passed as they lay together, just looking at each other, letting their breath and hearts still. Suddenly, she became desperate to express all the things she had failed to say in the last seven weeks. “I realized I’ve never told you…I’ve never said…” He just looked at her with his infinitely dark eyes, waiting for her to continue. How do people express the kind of love she felt for this man lying next to her? “I’m not sure there are words…” her voice caught and she fought the prick of tears. “I—“

“There may not be the right words, angel. Let me in. Show me.”

Hermione stared at him for the briefest of moments and gave a tiny nod. “ _Legilimens,_ ” he whispered, almost too softly for her to hear. Apparently for him, no wand was necessary.

She felt his presence as if he were standing at the threshold of her thoughts, not pressing in, but instead waiting for her to present him with something. But what to give him? Two memories surfaced.

_As Hermione opened the door to the room she knew so well, she saw him. She padded over to his bed to brush his dark hair tenderly away from his face. He didn't move. Hermione smiled sadly. Poppy must have snuck him Dreamless Sleep. When she reached for his hand everything seemed so simple, so clear. I love this man. And it doesn't matter if he loves me or not. I could never love anyone else…_

_Hermione was pressed his arms, her heart beating fast, her stomach flipping as he spoke. “…I want to shape my life around yours, to craft a life together that will fulfill both of our desires." And the world fell away beneath her, granting her just enough of a fleeting, backward glance to recognize that this was the breath when everything between them changed from _possible_ to _probable_. _They would try.__ _The moment left her giddy. And terrified…_

The realization she loved him, the admission he wanted her…somehow, the two images didn’t seem to be enough. But she possessed one more that might convince him of how much he meant to her.

_“…no matter what I did, I couldn’t protect her...”_

His words.

Even though he had failed Lily, Hermione trusted Severus to protect her.

The moment Hermione needed protection…safety…she had found herself in his front yard.

And she instinctively knew what that would mean to the former Death Eater who had failed to save every other woman he had ever loved.

The memory was dangerous to share. Before pushing it to the surface, she would have to hide the ugliness that had happened right before it. As he waited at the threshold, she tried to suppress the shock, fear, and anger that permeated the memory, leaving only the comfort and relief she felt when she had opened her eyes. She gifted him a piece—not enough for him to know what had caused her to run to him—but enough to show him that for her, no place on earth felt safer than his arms.

 _Somewhere safe._ _With a fleeting prayer that she would not splinch herself, she opened her eyes to find she had Apparated to the front yard of Severus's cottage…_

And then she closed the door to her thoughts.

“When did—” he whispered, his eyes widening a fraction.

“Not now,” she whispered. “Just hold me.”

* * *

 

Lulled by the champagne and comfort of his bed, Hermione had fallen asleep almost immediately. She awoke in Severus’s arms surrounded by the timid sunlight streaming through the curtains, surprised she had slept past dawn. She kept herself still and listened to the steady breathing of the man curled up behind her. _Sweet Merlin, please let every morning be like this one._ He stirred.

“Hello,” she smiled, rolling over to face him.

“Hello.”

He pulled her into a tender kiss. “We didn’t get through your entire plan for the evening, did we?” she said, reaching up to brush the stubble on his face with her fingertips.

He chuckled. “No, we didn’t.”

“Would you like to?” Last night had made her bold. And his touch had made her _hungry_.

Instead of answering, he kissed her. Deeply. _So he’s hungry, too._ Severus rose from the bed and took her by the hand, pulling her up to standing. He bent slightly to kiss her deeply, his hand grabbing a handful of hair at the nape of her neck. As he broke the kiss, he swung her around to bite the side of her neck. Hermione could feel his need of her against the small of her back. “You are mine,” he said in a voice that felt like silk in her ear, his matter-of-fact, commanding tone daring her to argue.

Severus swept her hair aside and bit her neck again, sending shivers down her body. Instinctively, she bent over and climbed on the bed to kneel in front of him. He growled. Still standing behind her, he dove into her, and a mangled gasp of pain and surprise escaped her lips.

The sound of her shock caused him to freeze. “Angel, did I hurt you?”

She nodded through gritted teeth. “More….” she panted. It was all she could manage.

Severus bent down low over her so his chest touched her back; one hand gripped her shoulder, dragging her body towards him, his other hand latched onto a fistful of her hair. She pulled her head away, pretending to fight against his claim on her body. At this, he seemed to lose control, and growling, he grasped her hair more tightly, staying just shy of overpowering her. He began to thrust, hard, embedding himself so deeply, she bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry out. “Hermione, I—“ His velvety voice, now ragged with desire, halted in a deep, low groan; she moaned his name as she welcomed both their climaxes inside her.

They collapsed next to each other on the bed. “Severus,” she murmured, pushing a curl out of her eyes while fighting to regain her breath. “That was fantastic. Promise we’ll do that again sometime.”

“How about now?” he countered, a salacious gleam in his eyes, his breath already still. She looked in his dark eyes and gave herself over once again to the man who said he would always be hers.

* * *

 

“How about a bath, angel?”

Hermione was laying on Severus’s chest in bed, eyes closed, listening to his heart beat beneath her. Although she didn’t want to move, a bath was just what she needed. “That sounds perfect,” she said, smiling softly up at him.

Severus flicked his wand in the direction of the bathroom and the tub started to fill. “Aren’t you tired?” she asked as he led her by the hand out of the bedroom.

He chuckled as he tenderly as he brought the palm of her hand to his lips and kissed it. “A bit. There’s plenty of day left for sleep, however. Poppy kept me far longer in the infirmary than I needed to be.”

“I think she just wanted to keep you there as long as possible,” she teased.

“Perhaps. But you have me now. All of me.” He stepped into the water, guiding her in after him and she settled herself on his lap. Now there was nothing but his kiss and the feel of the soapy water.

“You may be able to change my opinion about mornings,” he murmured.

“That is the highest compliment you’ve ever given me, Severus.”

And then, after a delicious hour, when they were finally both clean and warm, he carried her back to bed, wrapped his arms around her, and she fell blissfully asleep.

* * *

 

“Angel, it’s time to wake up.”

“Hmmm…” Hermione’s eyes struggled to obey.

“Your past self will be here in an hour. So you must go. For now.”

“For now,” she repeated sleepily as she wiggled out of his arms. “I will miss you,” she said as she gifted him a quick kiss. Pulling on his long sleeve shirt that had been on the floor, she headed to the bathroom, abandoning him in bed. Leaving him felt like she had splinched herself in half.

A few moments later, Severus appeared in the doorway. Apparently, he had felt her loss, too. “I will miss you, yet I will see you,” he said.

“Just another two days. Then you’ll only have me,” she said, not turning from the sink.

“Hermione…” She glanced over at him and saw that he was staring at her, uncertainty in his dark eyes. “I need to ask you something.”

“Anything, Severus.”

“The day after tomorrow you will have caught up to yourself in time. Yet your past self doesn’t have this…” He approached her and reached up to run the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, the tip of his finger tender against the skin of her scar. “The memory—“

She looked down to avoid his eyes. “It happens tomorrow.”

“What happens?” he asked evenly, pulling his hand back.

She hesitated. “I shouldn’t tell you,” she whispered. When he didn’t comment, she said, “And you don’t really want to know.”

“That confirms my suspicions.”

“You can’t interfere. It’s already happened.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Besides,” she added huffing a laugh despite her sadness, “you might kill him, and that would completely fuck up the timeline.”

“But think how much better the timeline would be without him in it.”

“Severus…”

“How do you expect me to sit idle and do nothing while knowing you are in harm’s way?” he asked her sharply.

“Because you _must_. Just be here at the cottage when I need you. When I come to you.” She walked past him to find her bag. “And give me this,” she said, handing him a scrap of parchment, “and allow me to see you take it from _Watch Over Me_. Tell me to reread it after Ginny leaves my room.”

He looked down at the ink. “Listen to me,” she said, and he glanced up to meet her eye. “I have to go through this. It wasn’t pleasant but…” she swallowed, “it was necessary.”

“Are you certain?” he asked her softly.

“I’m sure. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here with you right now.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Warning: Domestic Violence 
> 
> There is a scene depicting domestic violence in this chapter. Avoid if this bothers you. No howlers, please. And yes, there’s a purpose to my madness. I suspect you’ll see it in the text, but if not, it’s explained below, after everything is said and done.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. -slbb

After handing Severus the scrap of parchment, Hermione pushed past him into the cottage’s tiny bathroom. “I’ll have to stay out for most of the day. My past self will be bringing Harry over to visit. I’ll be back at dinner.” Lately, she’d been lax about keeping the future from Severus. She no longer cared—Merlin, she was _almost_ there. Severus simply stared at her. “Now—out! I have to shower!”

Severus regarded her smugly from the doorway but didn’t move. “Afraid I might watch? How…interesting for you to be timid now. Half an hour ago…” He arched an eyebrow and smirked.

“You’re going to make me late!”

“Certainly you can spare an extra minute to two for me…” he murmured, moving closer. He snaked his arms underneath the unbuttoned shirt she had pulled on—his white long sleeve shirt—and her breath hitched.

“The problem is that if I give you an extra minute or two…” she said wryly.

“I’ll take more than that. True.” He dragged her towards him so that more of his skin touched hers. “But I promise to be good.”

“We both know you’re much better than good. But I’ll be late.”

“I know of a way to save some time.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said, wandlessly turning on the shower behind her. “Let me come in with you. You can do what you need to and I can enjoy a bit more of what…is…mine.” He bent to kiss her.

“I’m not sure how this will save time. But it sounds like a fair compromise,” she whispered, breaking the kiss.

He pushed the shirt off her shoulders and down her arms. It fell to the floor. “Better.”

Leading her into the shower, Severus positioned her up against a wall and then picked her up so she could wrap her arms and legs around his lean body. She lost herself in the caress of the warm water and the press of his skin into hers, barely managing to escape the cottage before her past self showed up with Harry.

* * *

 

****

The following morning broke grey and cloudy, reflecting Hermione’s restless mood. According to her journal—although she hardly needed her notes to remember—she would be able to remain at the cottage until late afternoon. But the knowledge she’d be able to spend most of the day with Severus didn’t help her disquiet. And Severus seemed to be aware of it.

Hermione peered into the sitting room from the doorway to the kitchen, mug of steaming coffee in hand. He looked up and indicated a seat on the brown leather couch next to him. “Come sit with me.”

She padded over and sat down reluctantly. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think so,” she said, folding herself into his arms.

“What can I do?”

She hesitated. “Promise me something.”

“What?”

“That you won’t kill him.”

“I cannot promise you that,” he said, giving her an indecipherable look.

“Okay. Promise me you won’t kill him today.”

“I promise I won’t kill him today. Feel better?”

“No.” Hermione paused. “Winding up in your front yard helped me figure out that I belong with you, so he helped us, really,” she reasoned. He arched an eyebrow. “Okay. There _are_ times when I’m furious with him. I mean, I have a _scar_ _on my face_. Other times, I am just sad that it happened. I know he’s hurting. But I still don’t want you to kill him.”

“We don’t know what the future holds. Let’s take it one moment at a time.”

“I know a little of what the future holds,” she said, smiling sadly. “And today is horrible.” She took a deep breath. “Don’t forget to give me the parchment.” She knew the reminder was unnecessary; she had only voiced it for her own sanity.

“Of course,” Severus said gently. “Everything will be okay.”

She looked in his fathomless eyes; the darkness there was tender. Should she voice the feeling that now carried her soul? Should she tell him she loved him? “I…” But the hope that buoyed her—that he would answer in kind—was still a fragile thing. She let the words die on her tongue.

He reached up and brushed a curl from her face. “I know, angel. I do, too.”

* * *

 

By late afternoon, Hermione was shaking and fidgety. “It’s time for me to go,” she said, shrugging on her jacket and picking up her bag.

Severus put his arms around her. “Find your way back to me,” he said in his silk velvet voice as she buried her head in his chest.

“I will. I don’t even want to leave.”

“After tomorrow, you will never have to leave again.”

“After tomorrow.”

* * *

 

During the long hours her past self was at the cottage, Hermione meandered aimlessly around Muggle London, eventually wandering into the London Library. Surrounding herself with books usually brought her comfort. Not today. _Right now, he’s seeing the result of Ron’s rage on my lip._ As she drifted through the racks, tears threatened yet again. _What was I thinking? Severus is going to kill him. Maybe not today, but he’s going to_ kill _him._ Why had she stubbornly refused to listen to Harry and Ginny when they told her Ron was a lost cause?

Should Severus retaliate, how was she going to keep her former Death Eater from being hauled to Azkaban for assault…or murder? _Take a deep breath. It’s a bit dramatic even for you, Hermione. You won’t lose him. Severus hasn’t done anything yet. Nothing says he will._

Maybe an espresso would set her right. She strayed into Café on the Square, ordered, and settled down to distract herself with a Muggle newspaper.

An hour later, she Apparated back to moonlit front yard of the cottage and pushed open the front door. Severus was parked in the front room, an open book on his lap. “Hello.”

“Come here,” he said and she obeyed.

“I’m sorry I put you through that,” she said, sitting down next to him. “Your father…”

He circled his arms around her as the firelight danced around them, neither of them saying anything more.

* * *

****

Hermione awoke just after the break of dawn, cozy and comfortable among the rumpled linens and the safety of Severus’s arms. The seven weeks were over. She’d done it: today was the day she would catch up to herself in time. She bustled about the kitchen to unearth breakfast for them, barely able to contain herself. There would be no more leaving while her past self was here at the cottage. There would be no more daily reading of her blasted journal. There would be nothing but _them_. _Together_.

As they parted, they agreed that Severus would meet her at Grimmauld Place just before midday. Hermione took a deep breath and Apparated to the home she shared with her closest friends, her thoughts a jumble. She wished more anchored her than this tenuous desire to be rid of the complications the Time Turner had wrought.

Hermione stilled her soul and oriented herself to the present: her untidy room at Grimmauld Place. As she stood there surrounded by the clutter and discord, she remembered. She remembered carefully counting each spin on the Time Turner nearly two months ago. She remembered when the room had finally stopped spinning, and how the echoes of the moment morphed into the familiar colours of walls seven weeks prior. She remembered Apparating to just outside the Hogwarts grounds, and making her way to the infirmary to find her Potions Master. She remembered the realization that she loved him as he lay there fast asleep in the moonlight.

She glanced around the room. Ron’s flowers were on her dresser. Her suitcase was open: she’d been packing for the weekend with Ron when she left. She focused her thoughts on what she needed to do first: fix the situation with Ron. She strode out the bedroom door and down the stairs to his room, aware that from his perspective, he had asked her to go on holiday with him _yesterday_. She knocked, the echoes of the wooden sound falling down around her, descending the narrow stairs. “Yo,” he called from inside.

“Ron, it’s me,” she said tentatively, twisting the knob to open the door. The ancient window shade was closed; the room was stale, dark, and smelled of unwashed socks. Ron was lying flat on his bed, tossing a small ball in the air and catching it. He didn’t look at her.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Hermione hesitated. _Sweet Merlin, let me get through this without him lashing out._ “Ron, I’ve been thinking…I don’t think we should go away together this weekend.”

“Yeah? Why not?” Ron continued to toss and catch the ball.

“We need to stop this. Whatever _this_ is. We just need to be friends, not anything more.”

“Whatever, ‘Mione,” he said never taking his eyes off his game.

“Okay, then.”

“Okay, then.”

And that was it. She climbed back up the stairs to her room and let tears of relief come.

* * *

 

Half an hour later, Hermione sat on her bed, her mind at ease, her tears, long dried. Her hands itched to organize her room, eager to throw out the broken pieces of yesterday she had stubbornly clung to until now. She found she no longer needed them. Or wanted them.

With several flicks of her wand, order conquered the chaos.

The rumble of a Muggle motorcycle permeated the relative peace of Grimmauld Place. Hermione smiled. She bolted to the window to part the grey curtains, revealing Severus’s his lean form three stories below. Her Potions Master was clad in denims, a leather jacket, and an ancient t-shirt. He was parking his motorcycle—a beast of a BMW—while finishing off a cigarette. As she looked, he leaned back against the bike, glanced up precisely to her window, squinted his eyes, and gifted her the half-smile, half-smirk she had come to adore.

She heard the doorbell ring followed by Ginny and Harry’s voices—loud with admiration and congratulatory greetings—then footfalls up the stairs. A confident knock sounded on the wood of her door.

Severus stood in front of her, his infinitely black eyes glittering. He moved towards her silently, tangling his long fingers in her hair as he angled her face gently upwards. He dipped to ghost a near-kiss on her parted lips. His touch was so tender, so light, that if she hadn’t had her eyes open, she would have not been sure it had happened. As he withdrew to focus his dark eyes on her, she found they were alight with something she had never seen in them before: _hope_ , she guessed. “Have you made your choice?” he whispered.

In response, she caressed his jawline with her fingertip, then pulled him down toward her so their lips met again; this time he kissed her deeply. “You already know that I have.”

Hermione dragged him through the threshold of her door into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him with wordless magic. She moved to press herself into his arms, blissfully feeling no longer numb, but finally, gratefully home—everything in her life exactly where it should be once more.

“Hermione,” he said, his velvet voice thick with emotion as he held her, “it’s time for you to leave here.”

“I know,” she responded softly.

“Come with me,” he said, locking his dark eyes on hers, “to stay at the cottage. Permanently.”

She replied only with a shy smile and moved to fill the already-open suitcase on her bed. His eyes followed her around the room. “I’ll let you finish. I told Potter I’d have a word. I’ll be in the kitchen.” He vanished down the stairs, leaving the door open to the landing.

Unable to refrain from smiling, Hermione poked her head in her closet and began to charm her clothing into her bag. _Maybe if Severus helped me with the books, we could get out of here faster._ She found her wand. “Expecto Patronum.” As the bobcat appeared, she spoke a message into her waiting Patronus: “Severus, when you’re done downstairs, do you mind coming up and helping me with the—“

Hermione heard a footfall and glanced away from her Patronus. She was startled to find Ron, arms crossed, staring at her from the threshold of her bedroom door. The bobcat bounded away past him to deliver her partial message.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“I’m packing, Ron. I’m leaving,” she replied levelly.

He laughed sarcastically. “Yeah. I don’t think so.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Ron rounded on her faster than she could have imagined him moving, knocking her wand from her hand and slamming her into the wall. Suddenly, his sweaty hands were around her throat. _I…can’t...breathe_ … Hermione struggled against his grip, but could no more budge his hands than cry out. She did, however, register Harry’s voice calling out in an echo bouncing up the stairs: “That doesn’t make any sense, Professor. That was Hermione’s voice, but her Patronus is an otter, not some sort of pointy eared cat.”

She didn’t hear Severus respond. Instead, she heard steps ascending the stairs. Ron turned in the direction of the open door and released her throat—she bent over, gasping and choking—then he grabbed her and shoved, sending her hurtling out of her bedroom and across the landing. Hermione slammed into the closed door across from her room with an enormous crash, head first, and slumped to the floor, dazed. She opened her eyes to find Ron looming over her. As he dragged her up by her jumper, she registered the stale liquor on his breath. “You’re not going anywhere,” he snarled, barely loud enough to hear. In one terrible instant, he swiveled her so her back was to the stairwell…and with a violent shove, he pushed her down the stairs.

Hermione’s momentary surprise gave way to panic; then she was spiraling backwards, falling, falling…hitting nothing. After what seemed an eternity, she slammed hard against a turn in the stairwell.

She scrambled to find some foothold, anything she could grab onto; her hand made contact with a baluster but she was moving too fast to keep a grip on it. It yanked out of her hand, twisting and wrenching her arm. Hermione bounced across the turn and tumbled, winding up backwards again.

Her ankle caught in the spires holding up the banister and yielded to momentum with a sickening crunch. Hermione screamed and kept falling. Her head slammed against the opposite wall and she careened off it, each stair sending lightning bolts of pain shooting up from her ruined ankle, threatening to send her vomiting into unconsciousness.

The stairs had accomplished driving the air out of her lungs, so now she could no longer scream.

Just when she thought she would never, ever stop falling, just as she was about to reach the next landing, just as she thought her neck would be next to break, she felt strong arms stopping her...catching her. And the smell of sandalwood.

Then everything went black.

* * *

 

The familiar squeeze of Apparition, coupled with the screaming pain in her ankle, arm, and head, ripped Hermione back to consciousness. She was aware of Severus’s arms carrying her, supporting her underneath her back and behind her knees. Beneath coppery smell of blood was the immediately recognizable antiseptic odor of the Hogwarts infirmary. She opened her right eye a fraction to the deserted main ward. She blanched. Her right ankle was hanging at a disturbing angle.

Hermione gulped several breaths, futilely trying to fill her lungs. She began to claw at his jacket in panic. _Severus! Help me, I can’t get any air...!_

 _“POPPY!”_ A terrible shriek ripped from his throat, tearing through her and reverberating around the empty room. _“POPPY!”_ he wailed again desperately, and for a half second, she pressed herself into him as much as she could, hoping to calm the racing of his heart.

No one came.

Hermione continued to gasp; he looked down, met her eyes, and appeared to compose himself. “Hermione, you had the wind knocked out of you. You’ll be able to breathe in a minute. I promise,” he said gently. He glanced down the hall. “Where is that blasted witch?” he muttered.

He struggled to pull his wand from his sleeve without laying her down, finally freed it, and pointed it down the corridor. A great panther formed from the silver mist that had exploded from his wand, and it turned to stare back at them. She felt Severus sway, as if he were suddenly unsteady on his feet. After a second, he seemed to regain his purpose and spoke into the waiting cat. “Poppy, it’s Severus. We need you in the main ward. Now.” It silently leapt away down the hall to locate the message’s recipient.

Her lungs were finally, blessedly full. “What—“ Hermione wheezed through the increasing pain.

“Shhh. Later. I’m sure Poppy will be here any moment.”

An instant later Poppy dashed into the room, out of breath, wand out and pointed straight at them. His calm vanished at the sight of the mediwitch. “She’s hurt,” Severus managed. It was half plea, half panic; he uttered the words as if speaking them aloud had somehow made them true.

“Severus? Is it you? Your Patronus…?” She demanded, wand still raised.

 _“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now. Help her!”_ he screamed at the witch.

Poppy looked at them warily and then seemed to come to a decision: she lowered her wand. “Set her down here,” Poppy said, indicating a cot nearby. For no reason Hermione could fathom, Severus didn’t move.

“Severus…” A pause. “Sweetie, let me help her,” Poppy said gently, laying her hand on his shoulder.

Still nothing.

_“Severus! Put her down!”_

Her Potions Master finally obeyed, moving slowly towards the closest bed, and gently lowering her downward. As her ankle touched the linen, she yelped involuntarily, squeezing her eyes shut against the sickening pain. He grasped her hand.

“ _Sit_ ,” Poppy commanded Severus stiffly, “and don’t interfere.”

Severus released her hand and Hermione heard the scrape of a wooden chair across the tile. Without Severus’s fingers laced in hers, suddenly she was cold and terrified... _she was still falling and Severus had not been there to catch her…Ron would discover she was alive and choke her to death her in her sleep…she would never stop falling…Severus would abandon her…Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t be able to heal her ankle…Severus would kill Ron while she was in the infirmary...she would fall and break her neck like…_

She felt Poppy pull a blanket over her, leaving her ankle uncovered. Shaking, Hermione forced her eyes open, focusing them on her Potions Master. “Promise you won’t leave me! Severus, don’t leave me! Promise me!” she shrieked as the tendrils of panic curled around her every thought.

Severus approached the bed and took her hand firmly in his again. “It’s all right, Hermione. I won’t leave you. And Poppy will help us.”

Hermione turned to plead with the healer examining her. “Madam Pomfrey, please don’t make him leave!” she whimpered.

“It’s all right, child.” She handed Hermione a potion. “Drink this. It’s Calming Draught.” Poppy turned to Severus. “I have to straighten her ankle before I knit the bones. You’ll need to distract her.”

“I—“ Hermione began, and Severus bent down, locking his fathomless black eyes on hers, tenderly wiping the tears from her face. “Squeeze my hand,” he whispered. Hermione screamed as the healer moved her foot into position. “Brackium Emendo.” Hermione gasped: only an echo of the pain in her ankle remained.

“I’m going to get my diagnostic wand. I’ll be right back,” Poppy said and strode out of the room.

“You’ll be all right,” he whispered, but Hermione wasn’t sure the reassurance was for her or not.

Poppy returned, a black wand in hand. “Your right arm is sprained. You also have two sprained ribs. You have a laceration in your scalp, by your eye, and another at your ankle. But you do not have a concussion.”

Severus’s shoulders seemed to sag in relief. “Thank you, Poppy.”

“This will help the sprains,” she continued, handing Hermione a greenish potion, “and this lotion will help the bruising.” The healer leaned towards Hermione’s face. “Your eye and your scalp, however, need attention.” She turned to Severus. “I know you are more than able to handle wounds, Severus. Would you like to do it?”

“You’re better.”

“All right then,” the witch said and aimed her wand at Hermione. “Ready?”

Hermione shook her head and stilled herself for Poppy’s spells. “Put some Dittany around her eye,” she commanded Severus, “and here and here.” Hermione felt his shaking fingers rub the liquid onto her skin.

“You’re okay,” he said, his voice unsteady, his dark eyes, gentle. “I’ll clean her up,” he said, glancing up at Poppy.

“Of course. I’ll be back in a moment,” Poppy said and bustled off.

“Tergeo,” he said, siphoning the blood off her face and hair. When she was clean, he laid his head gently across her chest. “I was terrified,” he whispered. “I thought…” he started, but let his words trail off without finishing his sentence.

The admission of his fear hit her in the pit of her belly: _Merlin…Eileen…_ “I knew you would take care of me,” she managed, unable to voice anything more. There would be time enough for that another day.

“I always will.” He sat up, but didn’t let go of her hand. “Your Patronus…”

“And yours.”

“I am aware of others that have changed. It’s uncommon, but it can happen,” he said levelly.

“I should have told you. A panther and a bobcat. What are the chances?” she said, trying to keep her voice light.

“What are the chances, indeed.”

The bobcat…pleased her, somehow. But Severus…would he mourn the loss of his doe, his near-tangible reminder of Lily? Should she see any significance in hers had changed into a feline, too? “How did you Apparate us directly here?” she asked into the silence to change the subject.

“The headmaster is not subject to the wards.”

“Of course.” Hermione paused, not knowing how he would react to her next comment. “She called you ‘Sweetie’,” she commented, softening her words with a shy smile.

He chuckled. “That she did. When I was a student, she treated me more times than I can even remember. She took to calling me ‘Sweetie’.”

“You were always getting into fights and getting hurt. You were here more than you were in the Slytherin dormitory,” Poppy said, bustling in the room. She turned to Hermione. “He was my little Sweetie.”

“Poppy—“ Severus began.

The mediwitch ignored him, turning to focus on her patient. “Now Miss Granger, how are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you. How long before I can leave?“

“Just a day or two. I want to make sure you’re fully healed because Merlin knows what you two will be up to the moment you leave this infirmary,” the mediwitch said. Hermione felt herself pale. Poppy leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, “Trust me child, I know all about Severus Snape’s charms,” she continued, punctuating her words with a wink. Hermione felt her eyes widen.

“ _Poppy_ —“ Severus warned.

“Now Severus, I’m speaking to my patient. Please do not interrupt me,” she said, giving her Potions Master a reproving look. The healer turned back to Hermione. “When he was a student, he used to have a crush on me. He would leave flowers on my desk most every day. Sometimes, even a note.” She smiled wistfully, her blue eyes focused on some past memory. Poppy turned back to Hermione. The blue became hard. “I don’t particularly enjoy sharing my Sweetie, but as I suspect you’re not going anywhere, Miss Granger, know this: if you hurt him, you will have me to answer to.”

“I understand,” she responded, swallowing the _ma’am_ that she’d almost added. It was all Hermione could manage as her Potions Master sat stiffly on a nearby chair, his face emotionless.

“Very well, then,” Poppy said businesslike, turning towards him. “Severus, I’m certain you will refuse to leave. Make yourself useful and ensure she gets rest.” She eyed him witheringly. “ _And stay on your own cot._ ”

Hermione wanted to crawl under the bed. Poppy strode out of the room without a backward glance.

“Merlin, that was mortifying,” Hermione said.

“Well, she didn’t hex you into oblivion.”

“I suppose that’s a plus.” She smiled softly. “At least you can stay.”

“She cannot force me to leave since, as I mentioned, technically I’m still her superior.” His black eyes were gentle. “Even if I wasn’t Headmaster, she would not be able to convince me to leave you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” he asked, taking her hand and intertwining his fingers in hers.

“This was not the evening you had planned.”

“This was not the evening that either of us had planned. No matter. You are safe, now. That is what matters.”

“What will you do?” she asked in a whisper, knowing her Potions Master.

“I will deal with it—with _him—_ another day,” he said, his voice steel. His expression softened and he reached over to brush a curl of her hair away from her face.

She knew better than to exact another promise from Severus at that moment, so she nodded in answer. “Okay. But would you owl Harry? He’s probably frantic. And ask him to bring my wand.”

“I will,” he said. “Now rest, angel, and I will watch over you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, lovely readers, here's the key: Hermione is a means for Severus to achieve a redemption of sorts. While in the scene above he physically saves her, she is actually the one saving him. Remember how Severus described Eileen's death? Yeah. All that.  
> Of course, there's much more to it. Coming soon. I love you all. -slbb


	12. Chapter 12

Two wizards appeared down the long, echoing hall of the Hogwarts infirmary, their shoes clicking sharply on the tile, their eyes searching the empty ward. When their gaze fell on Hermione, they glanced at each other and approached. They stopped in the walkway near the end of her cot.

The taller one took a step towards her. “Miss Granger?”

“Yes…?”

“I’m Auror Bane Urquart from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and this is my partner, Auror Ivan Tudorov.”

“A pleasure.” She glanced to Severus, who was standing across the hall, staring out the window to the Hogwarts grounds, hands folded leisurely behind his back.

“We need to speak with you about yesterday’s…events.”

“What events?”

“The events that put you here in the infirmary, Miss Granger,” Urquart responded as if she were obtuse. “Healer Poppy Pomfrey contacted us as is required in situations such as this one.”

“I see,” she responded neutrally.

“This situation is quite…concerning to the main office.”

She stilled her face to impassivity. “In what way?”

“Both the event and identity of the accused are…troubling,” Urquart responded, shifting on his feet and avoiding her question.

“Speak your mind, Auror,” Severus cut in from across the room, turning his back on the view, his black eyes icy. Urquart glanced at his partner, then eyed her leather-and-denims-clad Potions Master warily.

“Headmaster Snape, the Minister has expressed reluctance to pursue charges against an Order of Merlin, Second Class,” replied Tudorov in a thick accent, seemingly unconcerned about his partner’s disquiet.

“Who said anything about charges?” asked Hermione, her curiosity surpassing her annoyance.

“It tends to be the natural course of action in cases like these.” Urquart responded. “We’ve interviewed Mr. Potter already, and he described what transpired. Mr. Weasley is already in custody, as per Mr. Potter’s…insistence.”

“Hold on. I don’t understand. Why is Ron in custody if the Minister does not want charges filed?” asked Hermione.

“Because Harry Potter does.”

Hermione let several choice curses fly.

“So you are in a difficult spot, aren’t you, Auror? Did Shacklebolt send you here to convince Miss Granger not to press charges? So she can be your scapegoat when the Chosen One demands to know why Mr. Weasley has not been charged?” Severus said, his voice steel.

“It is her decision. She was the injured party,” Tudorov said.

“Let me get this straight,” Hermione said. “Harry wants Ron charged. Kingsley wants the entire thing to go away. And—although I was the injured party, as you put it—“ she gestured to Tudorov, “I’m the last person you’ve contacted, presumably to find out what I would like to do so you can go back to Harry and Kingsley and blame me for whatever mess ensues. Bloody brilliant if you ask me.”

“Miss Granger, if you please. The Minister is concerned about the welfare of the wizarding world. Many are still healing and recovering from the war. Mr. Weasley’s actions may reflect poorly on…some …wizarding families,” Urquart stumbled.

She didn’t need to be a Legilimens to suss out what Urquart had not said. _Pureblood_.

“Are Muggle-borns not part of the wizarding world, Auror Urquart?”

“Miss Granger—“

“Get out,” she said softly. They didn’t move. “I said, get out,” she repeated, a bit louder. “For your information, I am a witch, whatever my blood status is.” She paused long enough to relish the shock on Urquart’s face as she voiced what he had not. “When I am ready, I will contact you with my decision as to whether or not I will press charges. Until then, do not contact me.”

Another glance passed between the two men. “Very well. Good day, Miss Granger,” Tudorov said politely enough, and the two Aurors departed the infirmary without a backwards glance.

Hermione and Severus stared at each other pointedly until the sound of the men’s footsteps were nearly gone.

“Muffliato.”

“How is it that I am the victim yet I feel like I’m in as much trouble as the accused?”

Severus smirked. “I suspect the blood prejudice comes from Urquart, not Shacklebolt,” he said, sitting down on the bed next to her. His weight dipped the cot, so she fell closer towards him. He took the opportunity to put his arm around her.

“It’s Arthur and Molly isn’t it? They have Kingsley’s ear.”

“Weasley and Shacklebolt are close, certainly. My guess is that the Weasleys do not want to lose another son, even to Azkaban,” Severus said.

Hermione was silent for a moment, thinking. “Harry is nearly done with Auror training, so Urquart might be working alongside Harry soon. He might think by getting the charges to stick, he can get on Harry’s good side. Best to keep The Chosen One on good terms,” she said snidely.

“A prudent and far-sighted career move, since Shacklebolt has been clear that he doesn’t want to be Minister forever.”

Hermione chewed on his comment for a moment. “I need to see Harry,” she said, setting her jaw.

“Potter informed me that he will be bringing your wand later this morning.”

“Well, I guess it can wait until then.”

Poppy bustled into the main ward, Daily Profit in hand. Severus dropped the Muffliato. “Miss Granger. Severus.”

“Poppy.”

“I just turned away a reporter from the Daily Prophet,” the mediwitch said, shaking her head in disgust. “It seems, however, they already have the gist of the story.” She handed the newspaper to Severus. “I advise against reading it, but I know you will anyway.”

Severus harrumphed.

“They’re vultures, nothing less,” Poppy said, exasperated. “Take her home, Severus, before it becomes a circus.”

“It may be too late for such aspirations. But thank you, Poppy.”

“Certainly.” She reached for Hermione’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Miss Granger,” she said, “take care of Severus.” Hermione had the distinct impression Poppy had almost said _My Sweetie_ instead of _Severus_.

“I will, Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione said, still unable to address the school mediwitch by her first name.

As Poppy strode away, Severus unfolded the newspaper. “The Daily Prophet’s most eligible witch is now making headlines outside the gossip column.”

“Ugh. I don’t want to know.”

“It could have been worse. Skeeter could have written the article.”

Hermione hung her head. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

The tall wooden door to the ward opened revealing dark hair, round glasses, and the rumpled jacket of Hermione’s best friend. Severus stood.

“Harry!”

“How are you?” Harry asked, his brow wrinkled in concern as he approached.

“Much better. Poppy says I can go home today.”

“Brilliant!” Harry said. “Here’s your wand.”

“Thanks.”

“Listen,” he said, his voice becoming serious, “Ron’s in custody at the Ministry. I wanted you to know so you feel safe coming home.”

She hesitated. “I’m not coming back to Grimmauld Place, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes flicked to her Potions Master. “I see.”

“Harry—“

“Look, it’s fine. I understand,” he said putting up his hand to stop her from saying anything more. He took a breath and slumped his shoulders. “It’s my fault. I should have protected you.”

“That is not your job, Mr. Potter. It’s mine,” Severus said, his cold voice daring Harry to argue. He locked his eyes on Harry’s from the other side of her cot. Hermione smiled up at her Potions Master.

She turned back to her best friend, her smile becoming sorrowful. “And it’s not your fault. It’s Ron’s.”

“Well then, the sooner we have him charged, the better.” Bitterness dripped from each word.

“Harry, you’re talking about your best friend.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. He hurt you,” he said, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

Hermione paused. “Kingsley doesn’t want him charged.”

“I don’t give a damn what Kingsley wants.”

“He’s the Minister.”

“So? Look, it’s my house. Maybe I don’t want him living there with Ginny and me. Maybe he’ll hurt Ginny next. Or burn the place down in a fit of rage or something.”

“That’s understandable, Harry. He doesn’t have to live at Grimmauld anymore. He can go back to The Burrow, or wherever. That doesn’t have anything to do with him being charged,” Hermione said. “I’ve been saying all along he needs help.”

“So you are going to do nothing? After what he did? You can’t be serious.”

“I didn’t say that. I never said that. But I’m the one that gets to decide. Not you. And not Kingsley.”

Harry said nothing for a moment. “He stays in custody until you make a decision.”

Hermione glanced to Severus; he nodded slightly. She turned back to her best friend. “Okay. That seems to be a fair compromise. Have you seen Mrs. Weasley yet?”

Harry harrumphed. “Not yet. Ginny tells me she’s in a right state. Once she finds out that I was the one that called the Aurors to have Ron taken in…” He crossed his arms. “I have no idea what she’ll do. She’s going to need to cool off first before she gets near me.”

“Is Ginny okay?”

“I’ve never seen her so angry.”

“I’ll bet. Listen, I’ll let you know what I decide,” Hermione said, “I need to think about it, that’s all. I need some time.”

“Okay,” Harry said. He turned to Severus. “Take care of her.”

Hermione saw Severus swallow a retort, likely something on the order of _don’t presume to tell me what to do, Potter_. “Of course,” her Potions Master said with a sneer. Harry departed down the corridor and Severus sat back down on the bed. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“I will send the Hogwarts house elves to retrieve your belongings from Grimmauld Place.”

“The elves?”

“The ones tasked to serve the Headmaster. And apparently, Headmaster’s Special Miss,” he smirked.

She huffed a laugh and reached out for his hand. He took it and intertwined his fingers in hers. “I like being your Special Miss. Severus, I just want you to know—Merlin, just what we need. Here comes Molly Weasley,” she said, fixing her eyes past her Potions Master down the infirmary hall.

“Popular today, aren’t we?” he murmured. Hermione gave him what she hoped was a dark look.

“Molly Weasley. How…unexpected of you to drop by,” Severus purred as he rose to standing, nodding in the direction of the newest visitor.

“Severus. Nice to see you.” Mrs. Weasley turned to Hermione. “May I have a word?”

“Anything you can say to me you can say in front of Severus as well.”

Mrs. Weasley’s lips formed a little o of surprise. “Well, then.” She took a breath. “I’m sorry you were hurt, my dear. Boys will be boys.”

“Boys will be boys?” Hermione repeated incredulously. “Mrs. Weasley, Ron very nearly killed me. As in, he broke my ankle, and sprained my arm and two of my ribs. As in, I’m very lucky not to have suffered a concussion or broken my neck.”

“I’m certain he meant to do no such thing. He probably didn’t realize—“

“Begging your pardon, you weren’t even there. He pushed me down the stairs. Intentionally.” She met the woman’s eyes, unflinching.

Mrs. Weasley’s hand flew to her throat; she glanced to Severus for help. Her Potions Master remained impassive. “Regardless, I am sorry you were hurt. This little matter at the Ministry, however, has me a bit confused,” she said, regaining her composure.

“How so?”

“Ron would only be in custody if he was going to be charged. And he isn’t going to be charged, is he, Hermione?” she asked pointedly as if she were talking to a small, errant child.

Hermione gaped at her. Certainly Molly Weasley—the woman who welcomed her into her home and treated her like a daughter—the woman that could have, at one time, been her mother-in-law—the woman she looked to for warmth and comfort— _she_ couldn’t be asking her to cover up the fact that she’d been assaulted by her son in a fit of drunken rage? Could she?

“Miss Granger did not request that your son be placed in custody,” Severus said evenly, answering for Hermione.

“Then who did?” Mrs. Weasley demanded, rounding on her Potions Master.

“A second witness.”

“And who, pray tell, is that?” she sniped, putting her hands on her hips.

“Harry Potter.”

“Harry Potter? He was a  _second_ witness?”

“Yes. I am the first.”

For a moment, Mrs. Weasley seemed to be having difficulty processing this new information. She turned back to Hermione. “Then you will convince Harry that this is simply a misunderstanding,” she said in a tone that suggested Hermione not argue.

“A misunderstanding?” Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course. Because that’s what it is.”

“I can hardly convince Harry of anything once he sets his mind to it.”

“Certainly as his—“

Severus cut across her. “ _Molly_. It seems best to discuss this matter directly with Mr. Potter, does it not?”

Mrs. Weasley appeared to understand that she had been dismissed. “I suppose so. Very well, then. I seem to have come to the wrong place. I’ll have a word with Harry. Severus. Hermione. Good day.”

They waited until she was past the infirmary’s wooden double doors before speaking. “Merlin, Severus. She can’t really believe I would drop this just because she asked me.”

“Blood ties trump everything in Molly’s perception of the world.”

Hermione sighed. “I want to go home.”

“Coincidentally, I want to take you there.”

* * *

 

A cloudless midday warmed the bench where Hermione sat in the front yard of the cottage she now shared with Severus. She closed her eyes and angled her face toward the sun. After nearly a day and a half in the stale air of the infirmary, it was nice to just be outside.

She was tired. The ache in her arm and intermittent pain in her ribs had eroded her energy. But she was here, with him. It was all that truly mattered—the Aurors, Kingsley, Mrs. Weasley, Harry, and all their opinions on what she should do next be damned.

Severus wavered between hovering nearby and disappearing into the cottage for long periods of time. He seemed to be trying not to fuss over her, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with himself instead. Indecision put him into a black mood: he brooded as he wandered back and forth from the fence to the bench next to her. “Tea?” he asked tentatively, stopping to glance at her while attempting to hide a frown.

Hermione tried not to let her amusement at his predicament show. “Not right now, but thank you.” He started pacing again. “You’ll wear down the grass there,” she said, her lips twitching in a near-smile. He harrumphed, paused, and kept walking.

She decided it was high time they discussed the situation. “Before deciding what I’m going to do, I need to know what you’re going to do,” Hermione said.

“What I’m going to do?” he echoed.

“Yes. What you’re going to do _to Ron._ ”

“How is that significant?”

“How is that significant?” she said, her pleasant mood evaporating. “If I have to put Ron in Azkaban to keep him far enough away from you so you can’t do something that lands _you_ in Azkaban instead, I will press charges!” she said, throwing up her hands, exasperated.

He stopped and looked at her. “Do you honestly think Mr. Weasley would be safe in Azkaban if _I_ wanted to reach him?” he asked softly.

Hermione had no answer for that. “Maybe if Ron—“ His eyes darted away from her and towards the path from the road. Something nearly imperceptible changed about him; it was as if he were making himself taller and more imposing. She let her sentence die.

“Follow my lead,” he whispered. “Minister. To what do we owe the pleasure?” Severus called smoothly over his shoulder as Kingsley Shacklebolt reached the gate from the path.

“Severus. Hermione. I’d like a word.” he said, closing the gate behind him and strolling up the stone path towards them. “I checked at the infirmary but you had already gone. Poppy suggested I might find you both here,” he said, openly assessing them to see if the comment caused offense.

Severus ignored Kingsley’s probing stare. “Obviously, Poppy was correct.”

“Obviously.” Kingsley smiled, but the smile did not touch his eyes. “Feeling better, Hermione?” he asked offhandedly as if she had just gotten over a mild case of the sniffles.

Hermione steeled herself to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “My sprained arm and ribs are a bit better. My fractured ankle has already been healed, Minister.”

“Poppy Pomfrey is an excellent healer. I’m certain she cared for you well,” he said, inclining his tall frame slightly in her direction.

“She did.”

“Nice place you have here, Severus,” he said, continuing his stroll around the front yard, making a show of examining the various bushes that softened the fence and cottage’s front face. “So about this matter with Ron Weasley…”

Hermione caught Severus’s eye. “Yes…?” she said, encouraging Kingsley to continue.

Kingsley turned from investigation of a Hillside Gorse bush to look pointedly in her direction. “I’m concerned…certain people are…overreacting to the situation at hand.”

Hermione kept herself from glancing at Severus. “Overreacting?”

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“Poppy assured me that you will heal nicely. There’s no permanent damage. And you seem to be fine. I’ve been assured that Ron is quite sorry for what happened. What would be the point of sending a young man to Azkaban for an extended period of time over an incident such as this one? Wouldn’t it be best to put it behind us and move on?”

She felt her face flush with anger. “Certainly it is my prerogative as to whether or not Ron is charged, Minister.”

“That’s true,” he conceded. “It’s also true that you are close to the Weasley family and any…charges may disrupt that relationship.”

“Are you suggesting that I not to press charges?”

“I’m suggesting that you to consider your options.”

She looked to her Potions Master as he answered for her. “Miss Granger will agree to assess ‘other options’ if you agree to keep Mr. Weasley in custody for the time being. Once her arm and ribs are fully healed—perhaps several days from now—she will be open to further discussions on this matter.” Kingsley glanced to Hermione to confirm that, indeed, Severus could speak for her. She set her jaw under his scrutiny.

Kingsley locked eyes with Severus, assessing. He seemed to reach a decision. “Very well then, it’s agreed. I will keep Ron Weasley in custody for now, and return here in three days’ time to discuss this matter further.”

“Thank you, Minister,” Hermione said.

“Minister,” Severus said, inclining his head subtly.

“Good day,” Kingsley responded and twisted away.

“Merlin, Severus, will it ever end?” she moaned, covering her face with her hands.

“Not for a while, I’m afraid.” He sat down on the bench next to her. “Have you thought about what _you_ want, Hermione?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Assuming I don’t act?” he smirked. He reached up to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear.

She smirked back. “Seriously. Don’t joke. Ron needs help.”

“You bleeding heart Gryffindor,” he drawled, ignoring her request.

“That’s me.” She sighed. “He needs detox and counseling. In that order.”

“St Mungo’s has facilities for both.” He paused. “Still. There needs to be more of a consequence. Dismemberment comes to mind.”

“Nice.”

They sat side by side, both staring in front of them. He didn’t speak for several long minutes. “Hermione. Would you be concerned about being alone with Mr. Weasley?”

“I suppose, if he were drunk.”

“I have a suggestion.”

“I knew you would,” she said, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.

“I assume you are familiar with the Caterwauling Charm.”

Hermione chuckled. “You could say that.”

Severus raised an eyebrow but otherwise did not inquire. “I believe I am able to create a similar charm. Should Mr. Weasley come within a pre-determined distance from you, the charm will alert in the Auror Office. I can add a component that will prevent him from Apparating. It will also include a modified Trace, so the Aurors can locate and retain him easily.”

She stared at him for a moment. “You’ve been busy.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think,” he said dismissively.

“It just might work, Severus.”

“Let me visit the Ministry tomorrow morning and see what I can uncover.”

“You’re going to wait until tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he said, putting his arm around her. “I…am not ready to leave you yet.”

* * *

 

“I failed you.”

The cool autumn evening spoke of the coming winter, the sky sharp with stars. They sat next to each other at the mahogany dining room table, the warmth from the lively fire in the sitting room filling the air. Severus had insisted on serving her a curry dinner that comforted her in ways that had nothing to do with her hungry belly. After their discussion on the bench, he’d been quiet all afternoon: avoiding her eyes, disappearing into the garden, barely speaking. She looked up at his words. His dark eyes were flat. Grim.

“What do you mean, Severus?” she asked as gently as she could.

“I didn’t drop the bastard on the stairs. My wand was out but I was concerned I would hit you. I failed.”

“No. You caught me. Besides, even if you had stunned him, I still might have fallen.”

Hermione could see that he had not considered the last. The fact staggered her momentarily: Severus was so blinded by a cocktail of guilt and anger, logic was beyond him.

“Still.” He pushed away from the table and wandered toward the fireplace in the adjacent room. He kept his back to her, his head bent, his eyes trained on the fire at his feet. “I left you upstairs when you needed protection.”

“You had no idea I would need it.”

“I should have.”

In a way that was true, she supposed. She paused. Cold logic was back and competing for control. “I am grateful you were there. You very likely saved my life.” Hermione got up and approached him from behind, putting her arms around him. He continued to stare, unmoving, into the fire. “What is it?” she asked softly.

He was silent for a moment. “Forgive me.” He thrust the words at the flames, speaking as if it took all his strength to form them and unstick them from his throat.

“Severus.” She yanked on his stiff form until he relented and turned towards her. “Hear me.” She reached up to touch his face with her fingertips; he flinched and closed his eyes as if it caused him pain. “I love you. There is nothing to forgive. I want no debt between us.”

Hermione had not realized at first that she had said what she did. The words had leapt from her tongue naturally, without thought of reprisal or consequence. And now there was no retreating, no taking them back, no couching _love_ with a more transient _in love_. As her words faded into silence, she wondered if, at that moment, she had made things decidedly worse.

She saw his dark eyes open and flicker with doubt and then—there it was again— _hope_. He pulled her into a fierce embrace, her head tight against his chest; he was trembling. She gripped him hard in return. “What would I have done if I had lost you?” he whispered raggedly.

Hermione let that question lie unanswered and untouched in the air between them.

* * *

 

Hermione awoke early the next day to the sound of Severus opening the bedroom’s closet door. “Good morning,” Severus said. She yawned in reply. She watched as he pulled on his robes in preparation for his visit to the Ministry. “I’ve warded the property. No one except me will be able to enter without…severe consequences,” he smirked. “Rest.” He set his wand in his sleeve.

“The Hogwarts elves will be arriving with—“

“ _Rest_.” He bent to kiss her on her head. “I’ll be back soon.”

Two and a half hours later, Severus had still not returned to the cottage. She had taken the opportunity to owl Ginny, not knowing exactly what to say; she decided on _Harry probably told you that I’m okay. I hope you are, too._ The elves had been and gone. It was nearly lunchtime. What could possibly be keeping him?

Hermione stretched and winced; her ribs were killing her. She was lonely. And he was gone because of what Ron had done.

What seemed like an eternity later, her Potions Master Apparated into the sitting room, his lips twisted sourly. His expression matched her mood. “What did you find out?” she said, looking up from her spot on the couch.

“In a simple domestic violence case—“

“A _simple_ case?”

“The Ministry’s wording only. It was not a commentary on your particular situation.”

“I fail to see how that wording could be applied to any situation.”

He settled down next to her. “Fair enough. In a case where the victim was not mortally injured—“

“Merlin, Severus, these people are mad.”

“I have been saying that for years.” He reached for her hand as if he were about to deliver bad news. “In your type of case, a minimum thirty day incarceration in Azkaban is mandatory.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. The minimum thirty day incarceration has been in existence for nearly as long as the Wizengamot has. There is only one record on file in its history where the thirty day sentence was not executed, and that was because the assailant was remanded to a Muggle prison.” She looked at him then, truly looked. His infinitely dark eyes were shuttered against her gaze; he was as distant as she had ever seen him. Yet he had reached for her.

He was holding her hand, not to provide comfort, but to receive it.

“You knew.” It was a statement, not a question. “You knew, didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Before telling you, I wanted to confirm the law had not changed since 1976.” He held her eyes for a moment then turned away. _1976…how could I have missed it?_ It was then she understood.

“Your father was that case.”

He nodded. “The Ministry advised him that there was a thirty day minimum sentence. They also informed him that if I—,” and he laughed bitterly at that, “—if _I_ chose, I could press charges for a longer sentence, as was my right as her son.”

Hermione stayed silent, knowing there was more.

“He demanded a Muggle trial. I believe his parting statement was ‘fuck you and all your mothers’. Ever so eloquent. I suppose he preferred his chances in a Muggle prison rather than to face me in a wizard court.” His lips curled bitterly. “I never saw him again.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Severus seemed to regain his composure and said, “This is not about me.”

“Strictly speaking, no. But you are still involved. I’m so sorry.” She gripped his hand, hard.

“Hermione. Don’t.”

Hermione took a breath and redirected the subject somewhat. “Kingsley said nothing. Why?”

“Interesting, isn’t it?”

“Maybe he thought you had already told me.”

“If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that, no, he was wagering I had not told you.”

“Maybe he believes as Minister he doesn’t have to play by the rules,” Hermione said derisively.

“Perhaps. Perhaps he sought to use it as a way to further his request that you do not pursue the case.”

“As in, ‘Ron’s getting thirty days anyway,’” she said.

“Yes. Something like that.”

“But why not mention it?”

“I do not know. Shacklebolt’s reasons are apparently his own.”

“Molly Weasley didn’t seem to know.”

“It seems odd, but it appears that she does not.” Severus took a deep breath. “As I said, a minimum of thirty days is mandatory, required by magical law once a physical injury is reported—whether or not the victim presses charges to extend the sentence. Incidentally, I confirmed that the thirty day sentence may start after a detox or counseling programme is complete.”

“Detox, counseling, then thirty days in Azkaban. And your charm, for a while at least. It might be enough.”

“We don’t need to decide at this moment.”

“You’re right. I need to talk to Harry and Kingsley.” She paused. “Harry first.”

* * *

 

“That bloody arse. How could he not tell me? How could he not tell _you_?” Harry rose and stomped through the sitting room, red faced.

Severus responded for her. “It is possible he did not know, although I believe that to be highly unlikely.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to dispute the thirty day mandatory sentence,” Hermione said.

“There _has_ to be more punishment. He nearly killed you. And this is the second time he’s hurt you. He should get sixty, just as a start.”

“Severus and I have discussed it,” Hermione said. “I’d like Ron to go to inpatient detox then counseling at St Mungo’s before Azkaban.”

Harry’s brow was furrowed as he continued his pacing, hands jammed stiffly in the pockets of his denims. “That’s it?” he said, his voice higher than usual.

Severus cut in. “No. You and I are in agreement, Mr. Potter.” _For once_ his sneer added silently. “There must be more repercussions for his actions. He must not be allowed near Hermione again.”

Harry looked at him expectantly and impatiently, tapping his fingers. “All right, out with it. What’s the plan?”

“I can combine the underage magic Trace with a modified Caterwauling Charm to alert the Auror Office if Mr. Weasley comes near her. We can demand the Wizengamot extend his sentence should he do so.”

“Can you live with that, Harry?” Hermione asked.

Harry turned toward her. “Funny you should put it that way. All I’ve been trying to do is keep you alive.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

Severus’s leather couch was much cozier than it first appeared. With her legs folded under her, _A Study in Advanced Charms_ open on her lap, and a jasmine tea in hand, Hermione had no doubt that even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would be jealous. Her only minor complaint was the night’s chill, quite pervasive for the fledgling autumn. She pulled her jumper tighter around her. He looked up from his own text, his gaze taking in her skirmish with the falling temperature. Severus smiled knowingly. “Incindio,” he commanded, calling the fire to life. With a flick of his wand, a large woolen blanket appeared. He tucked it around her and returned to his research.

Hermione smiled in thanks and immersed herself in the textbook in her lap once more. She had barely started _Chapter 5: Substantive Charms_ when she felt his fingers pushing to entwine with hers. She glanced up. His eyes hadn’t left the volume in front of him. Severus seemed to have reached for her hand absentmindedly; he was absorbed in his book, yet he sought her out in the companionable silence.

The warmth she suddenly felt had nothing to do with the new fire or the emerald and silver wool blanketing her shoulders.

* * *

 

“I’m tired,” Hermione stretched and closed her book after enduring an hour of the pros and cons of casting advanced substantives.

“Let’s go to bed.” Her Potions Master stood and offered his hand. “How are your ribs feeling?”

“Better. Not one hundred percent, but very close.” They walked to the bedroom, fingers interlaced. “I’m sure by tomorrow…” she smiled mischievously and glanced up at him.

“I’m glad to hear it. But that’s not why I asked, angel.”

She tucked herself in next to him in the mahogany bed that had, not too long ago, appeared far too large and far too terrifying for her. With Severus lining her back, now it seemed perfect. She sighed happily. Snuggling deeper into the sheets made toasty by his warming charm, she closed her eyes and welcomed sleep.

_Hermione felt herself being thrown across a dimly lit hall. Her head slammed into the door across from her own. Ron stomped after her, grabbing her jumper and dragging her up so that she was level with the madness in his eyes. He started to speak but it wasn’t Ron’s voice she heard. “Herrmioneee…” She looked again and watched in horror as Ron’s nose became slits and his blue eyes became red. “Yessss…time for you to die, Mudblood.” Cold terror gripped her. He reached out a black, withered hand and pushed her towards the edge of the stair. Suddenly it was Bellatrix who was standing in front of her brandishing a dagger, its shiny blade pointed at her arm. She laughed. Hermione tumbled over backwards in a never ending plunge downward into darkness._

“Hermione! _Hermione!_ Wake up!”

Hermione opened her eyes to discover Severus staring at her, worry etched into his brow. His hands were on her shoulders. She gasped. She was dripping in sweat and she was certain her heart was about to claw its way out of her chest.

“Shhh. It’s okay. I’m here.”

It all came out it in a rush. “But Vold—Ron was at Grimmauld and pushed me only it wasn’t Ron at all, it was Voldemort, and he was speaking to me, and then it was Bellatrix, and I fell and fell and it felt like I was never going to stop. I was—“ She started to weep.

“Here, get closer.” Severus surrounded her with his warmth. “It’s going to be all right, Hermione. The Dark Lord and Bellatrix are gone. Forever. They can’t hurt you anymore. Mr. Weasley can’t hurt you anymore.”

“I’m sorry I woke you,” she managed through her tears.

“It’s okay. You were screaming, angel. So I woke you.” He pulled her even closer. “I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I don’t suppose you can keep Voldemort and Ron and Bellatrix from showing up in my dreams, though,” she whispered.

“As a matter of fact, I can.” He smiled softly and brushed an unruly curl from her face. “What kind of a Potions Master would I be if I didn’t have any Dreamless Sleep?”

* * *

 

Minerva McGonagall slammed the Daily Prophet down on the kitchen table, narrowly missing the remains of their breakfast. Crumbs flew. Hermione’s coffee mug vibrated, threatening to topple. She grabbed it before it spilled and rewarded herself with a sip.

“Would either of you care to explain this?” McGonagall huffed.

Hermione bit back a laugh. How many times had she, Harry, and Ron heard similar words from her erstwhile Transfiguration professor? And now McGonagall was barking them at Severus? _Brave woman. Brave, but maybe not that smart._ She peered down at the headline of the Daily Prophet. Her mirth evaporated.

**_Brutal Attack on War Hero Fueled by Jealous Rage_ **

**_Is Hermione Granger’s New Lover the Cause of Her Split with Ronald Weasley?_ **

_The Daily Prophet has learned the reason behind the lovers’ spat between Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, which landed Miss Granger in the infirmary at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with significant injuries. As The Prophet reported several months ago, the two War Heroes and Orders of Merlin, Second Class, were believed to have been intimately involved and had unofficial plans to bond._

_Prophet sources confirm, however, that Miss Granger has been spotted several times within the past few weeks with none other than Order of Merlin, First Class, Severus Snape, current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Miss Granger and Headmaster Snape have been nearly inseparable during his recuperation from near-fatal injuries sustained during the Battle of Hogwarts, and have been seen strolling along the lake adjacent to the school Headmaster Snape oversees._

_Likewise, Headmaster Snape has not left Miss Granger’s side as she recovers from last week’s injury. Sources at the Hogwarts Infirmary confirm that Miss Granger had indeed been pushed down several flights of stairs at her home after an explosive row with Ronald Weasley._

_Could this new ‘relationship’ have been the reason for the lovers’ spat that landed Miss Granger in the infirmary? Why would War Hero Miss Granger foster such a close—and very likely intimate—relationship with a wizard nearly twice her age who is also one of her former professors?_

She glanced up at Severus. Her Potions Master face was impassive. _I’m just going to let him handle McGonagall_. “It is true that Miss Granger was thrown down a flight of stairs at Grimmauld Place by Mr. Weasley. She was released from Poppy’s care just yesterday.”

“I am unable to comprehend as to why—” Professor McGonagall began.

“Minerva. Mr. Weasley will have to speak for himself on this matter.”

Her lips thinned. “And where, pray tell, is Mr. Weasley so I might have a word?”

“In custody at the Ministry.”

“As he should be. But that’s not why I’m here.” She pointed a bony finger at the _Prophet_ , eyes locked on the Headmaster. “Is this true?”

“As I stated, Miss Granger—“

“You know I’m not referring to _that_. You two. Is it true?”

“Yes.” His eyes were fixed on his colleague, daring the older woman to make another comment.

McGonagall straightened her spine, yanked her robes tighter around her, and accepted the dare. “Miss Granger is a child. Not ready for the likes of you, Severus Snape.”

He quirked an eyebrow at this, and continued his hard stare.

Hermione felt herself flush in anger. _A child?_ “Professor, you do realize I am standing right here, don’t you?” Minerva McGonagall didn’t even bother to turn towards her, much less respond.

“Do you understand how this will look to the Board of Governors?” the professor sniped at Severus.

“Do you understand how little I care?” He turned away from McGonagall to look out the kitchen window. He smirked. “Allow me to tender my resignation. Effective immediately.”

“Severus, you cannot—“

He swung back at her and the Transfiguration professor took what appeared to be an involuntary step backward. “Truly, Minerva. What did you think I would say? Do you think I would deny what I have found with Miss Granger because it makes you uncomfortable? Or because it’s better for your bloody _school_? Did you think you could come into _our_ home and insult me—us—just so you could make your conscience feel better?”

“I—“

“It is obvious this is not to your liking. I understand that you would not have chosen _me_ for your precious Gryffindor. You would rather see her trapped for the rest of her life with Mr. Weasley—even though she would have to endure being beaten by the drunken imbecile—simply because Ronald Weasley is who you had planned for her,” he spat. “No concern for her safety. No thought to her happiness, as ever. Not everyone aspires to be as miserable and lonely as you!”

“That’s enough!” Professor McGonagall bellowed, her magic crackling around her.

“Hardly. How dare you come here? To our home? And call us to task for some imagined indecency?” He paused and smiled a cold smile. “I have given you what you wanted all along—as of this moment, I am no longer part of your illustrious staff.”

“Severus, if you—“

“Deputy Headmistress, Miss Granger is still healing. I’m certain she is in need of rest,” he said quietly. “Please leave us, if you would, to our morning.”

No one spoke as Minerva McGonagall huffed her way out the front door and Disapparated.

As angry as she was at Professor McGonagall, Hermione’s heart swelled. This man—this man she adored—had just stood up for their fledgling relationship. He had gone so far as to surrender his position in the process. “Severus, don’t resign. I’ll use the Time Turner. I’ll make sure it never happened.”

“It’s not the answer, Hermione. You know this. You can’t undo what has been done. The Time Turner doesn’t work that way,” he said gently. “He would find another, similar way to hurt you.” He pulled her into his arms. “Besides,” he smirked, “I intended to resign anyway. It was…pleasurable to play my hand when her anger had her so tight-lipped she couldn’t think straight.” He bent to brush a kiss on her forehead.

“Severus, you said _pleasurable, hand, tight_ , and _lip_ in the same sentence,” she said, his kiss buoying her out of the mood McGonagall left in her wake.

“So I did,” he said in a low growl, nipping at her ear. “You missed _play_ however.”

“I’m glad you caught that.” She brought his fingers to her lips. “But you weren’t even talking about me. I do believe I’m jealous.” She started to nibble the inside of his wrist. “And twisting the Deputy Headmistress’s words like that? Very bad. Incorrigible, even.” She wrapped her lips around the tip of his forefinger and drew it out languidly.

“Obviously, someone as incorrigible as me should not venture out of the house…”

“Certainly not…” She feathered a kiss on his neck. “It would be unseemly.”

“Improper.”

“Tawdry, even.”

A tap-tap-tap on the window glass announced the arrival of owl-post. Hermione sighed. A Ministry owl was waiting impatiently on the sash. She retrieved the parchment and tipped the bird with a remnant of their breakfast that had made its way to the floor. Unrolling the parchment, she said, “Well, fuck. Kingsley’s coming back. In an hour.”

“Language, Miss Granger,” Severus drawled, mischief in his eyes, forcing her back against the counter and driving in so close, she had to part her legs to make room for him.

“Did you hear a word I said?” she asked playfully.

“I heard two very delicious words, angel.” His velvet voice wrapped around her belly. “I also heard we have an hour to kill.”

* * *

 

“Welcome, Minister.”

“Thank you, Hermione. Severus.”

Her Potions Master crossed his legs languidly and settled into the couch in the sitting room. He gestured for Kingsley to follow suit as the Headmaster’s elves busted in to serve tea and biscuits, their eyes bright with the pleasure of serving the assembled company. Hermione settled in next to Severus and tried to arrange her hands on her lap. Severus spoke first. “Miss Granger has carefully considered her options on how she would like to proceed.”

“Very good.” Kingsley nodded and reached for a cup.

“During our…evaluation, we discovered that there is a mandatory thirty day sentence for offenses such as these,” Severus said, lifting an eyebrow and gifting the Minister an unrelenting stare.

Kingsley shifted in his seat. “Yes. Well, that’s true. That is—“

“You bloody well knew. Why didn’t you tell us?” Hermione spat. Severus covered her hands with his own, presumably in an attempt to calm her.

Kingsley sighed. “It wasn’t a matter of keeping it from you, Hermione. I was certain Severus would investigate. And there was a good chance he was already aware…” Kingsley turned away then, looking out the window. Was he were trying to spare Severus from being embarrassed? “Arthur knows. We are both trying to keep it from Molly for now. She’s been teetering on the verge of a breakdown ever since Fred’s death. Arthur wants to be the one to break it to her. He…hasn’t had the courage yet.”

Hermione huffed. “That doesn’t make any sense. Molly Weasley would know about the thirty days. She’s not Muggle-born, like me. Even if she wasn’t aware of it, someone else that knew could have said something to her,” Hermione pointed out.

“Also true,” Kingsley conceded. “But she’s been so upset, she’s not left the Burrow. Won’t talk to anyone. Won’t see anyone. Won’t even read the _Prophet_.”

“Someone needs to tell her,” Hermione said. Even though Molly Weasley had been less than comforting after her injury at Ron’s hands, Hermione still believed a mother had certain, well, _rights_.

“Arthur will when the time comes.” Kingsley stood and strolled to the window. “Look, as Minister you need supporters and Arthur and Molly are two of my biggest. I need the Weasleys, plain and simple,” he continued as he stared out to the front lawn. “The wizarding world is still on edge. This is—“

“Bullshite,” Severus said, cutting across him levelly. “We need the reason you don’t want him in Azkaban, Shacklebolt.”

Kingsley stiffened and said nothing for a moment. “Fine, Snape. I suppose I’d never be able to effectively hide it from you, anyway.” He turned towards them, his jaw set, his eyes hard. “I want to step down as Minister. I agreed to take the job to get us through the bumps after the war, but now…I don’t enjoy politics. I need to set up a successor. One that will be widely accepted. Widely liked. One without a son in Azkaban.”

“So Barty Crouch is still discussed in the Ministry’s hallowed halls?” Severus said snidely.

“The wizarding world needs Arthur Weasley as Minister.”

 _Sweet Merlin._ The bumbling man who could have been her father-in-law leading the entire government? She wanted change in the Ministry, but this…Hermione barked a laugh. “I literally can’t believe you said that.” She felt her face flush. “But Arthur Weasley is perfect politically, isn’t he? A pureblood yet indulgingly tolerant of Muggle-borns? A prominent member of the Order who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts? Lost a son in the war? Near foster father to the Savior of the Wizarding World? Shall I go on?” Severus gripped her hand tighter and she bit her lip in an effort to cut herself off. She took a breath. “So indulge us. How are you going to make the thirty day sentence disappear—and pave the way for Mr. Weasley to take over?”

“I am acquainted with…a relatively new loophole. A special dispensation for an Order of Merlin recipients.”

“Is the ink dry on it yet, Shacklebolt?” Severus said quietly. Dangerously.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Kingsley looked smug. “War heroes are so damaged. Traumatized. Sometimes they do things without thinking. It’s simply a precaution, should anything…untoward happen as they sort themselves out after the war.”

Hermione huffed a laugh. “And you said you weren’t a politician.”

“I said I didn’t enjoy politics. I didn’t say I wasn’t a politician.” Kingsley looked pointedly at Severus. “Hell, if it had been my witch he’d thrown down the stairs...” He sighed. “I’m not sure _I_ wouldn’t be in Azkaban right now.” She felt Severus tense beside her. “I wager you want some jail time. But I was hoping you’d see the bigger picture.” The men continued to stare at each other. “Especially you two. It’s not like you’re strangers to self-sacrifice for the greater good.”

Hermione snorted at that. “I fail to see how the promotion of Arthur Weasley to Minister could be classified as ‘for the greater good’.”

Kingsley didn’t respond to the jibe. “Should you pursue a trial, which is your right, let me forewarn you that you may find the Wizengamot…unlikely to agree with your point of view.” He smiled smugly again. “Arthur and I have been working on this for a while. It’s a shame this happened right now, after everything we’ve put in place. As for Molly, you’ll just have to forgive her. She can be rather…”

“Irrational?” Hermione supplied.

Kingsley nodded in her direction indulgently. “Irrational when it comes to protecting her family.”

“If you would excuse us, Minister,” Severus said, rising from the couch. “Hermione and I have several things to discuss. Thank you for coming.”

“May I count on you?” Kingsley said, offering his hand.

“As I said,” Severus responded, taking the Minister’s hand, “We have much to discuss.”

* * *

 

“ _Minister Arthur Weasley?_ Merlin help the lot of us!” Hermione said, exasperated, as soon as Kingsley had Disapparated. “Really, _Arthur Weasley_ leading the wizarding world? They really want someone who thinks Muggles are fascinating, clever little creatures that should be studied with wry amusement like a particularly intelligent lab rat? The Ministry is going to use him up and spit him out when they’re through.”

“Ronald Weasley’s consequences be damned,” Severus said.

“Ronald Weasley’s consequences be damned.” Hermione sighed. She leaned into him and he put his arms around her. “Even if the thirty days are no longer mandatory, we can still pursue a trial. Kingsley could be bluffing. I doubt he has enough money or power to have the entire Wizengamot is in his pocket.”

“Even if the entire Wizengamot is not in his pocket, I’m certain Shacklebolt commands significant influence there. A trial would not guarantee Mr. Weasley’s incarceration.”

“Yeah. Damaged war hero and whatnot.” Hermione sighed again and snuggled closer into his chest. “What should we do?”

“I have a suggestion.” She felt the smile on his face through his words. “It’s not significantly different than the original plan, but it may suffice.”

Hermione looked up at him and smiled in response.

* * *

 

 _“The thirty day sentence no longer applies to recipients of the Order of Merlin?”_ Harry actually jumped up as if this piece of news forced him out of his chair. Bits of sandwich shot off the table in his wake. Hermione idly wondered if she would ever be able to keep the floor of the cottage clean from bits of food with the way visitors seemed to react during conversations as of late. Maybe she should task that job to the Headmaster’s elves. Or get a crup.

“As of this morning,” Severus said with a sneer.

“That arse. He needs to be brought up of charges of corruption.” Harry bit the words out as he began to pace the kitchen floor.

“It is likely Shacklebolt has significant influence in the Wizengamot. I would not rely on them coming to the…obvious conclusion,” Severus responded, his sneer deepening. “And bringing Shacklebolt up on charges doesn’t change the fact that Mr. Weasley remains unpunished and Miss Granger remains in danger.”

“Harry, he doesn’t want to stay Minister anyway. He won’t care. He’ll just resign. The law’s already changed. The damage is done.”

“Wait. Kingsley doesn’t want to stay Minister?” Harry stopped his pacing to regard Hermione.

“No. He wants Arthur Weasley to take the position.”

_“What?”_

Severus answered for her. “Therefore, from Shacklebolt’s viewpoint, it is imperative that Weasley’s son does not get sent to Azkaban. It would erode the support so sorely needed in this...time of rebuilding and unity.” Hermione had never seen a sneer as grand as the one on Severus’s face.

“He’s going to let Ron get off because the powers that be want Arthur to be Minister? That’s mad.” Harry paused for a minute. “Even though the thirty days are no longer mandatory, we can still go forward with a case and bring it to trial, right?”

“Yes. But again, I would not be certain of the outcome in the Wizengamot.”

“I’ll pull every string. I’ll call in every favor. I’m the bloody Chosen One for fuck’s sake. Of anyone, I should be able to send someone to Azkaban.”

“ _Harry_.” Hermione said, calling Harry back from his rant. “Severus and I have an idea.” She glanced at Severus. “But we’ll have to get Kingsley to agree to it.” She paused. “One more infraction and we won’t need to go to court at all. It will be much less messy, much less public, and you won’t have to pull any strings. It will be better for Ron, better for Severus. And better for me.”

“Go on.”

Severus continued for her. “In lieu of a trial or the thirty days, we demand my tracking charm is permanent. And should Mr. Weasley break it, he is automatically remanded to Azkaban without a trial.”

“Well…” Harry said after a moment, “that might work.”

“It accomplishes the goal of keeping Mr. Weasley away from Miss Granger and assures that Mr. Weasley alone bares the responsibility for keeping his behavior in check.”

“What about his wand?” Harry asked.

“As in, what if he uses it for spells against Miss Granger?”

“Exactly.”

“I will never leave her side when she is beyond our wards. And if you think I cannot protect her…” Severus gifted Harry a dark stare.

Harry retreated. Somewhat. “I would never say that, Professor.”

“And Ron doesn’t have enough strength, talent, or intention to cast an Unforgivable,” Hermione added.

“I don’t know, Hermione. You know how angry Ron’s been since we lost Fred.”

“I do believe the charm is our best course of action based on the current atmosphere at the Ministry and knowing Miss Granger’s…tendencies,” Severus added, his face stoic.

“What does _that_ mean?” Hermione barked, her voice rising a notch.

Harry rounded on her. “It means we know you. You’ll want to forgive him and you’ll do it too early. You’ll feel guilty about sending him to Azkaban. You’ll put yourself at risk.”

“The permanent charm will resolve many of these issues,” Severus said.

Harry locked eyes with Severus. “So…we talking about _permanent_ as in, Ron never gets near her again?”

Hermione saw Severus bite back a retort, probably along the likes of _shall I get you an English dictionary, Mr. Potter?_ “Yes. Unless Miss Granger agrees to the charm’s removal. And I will not allow the bleeding heart Gryffindor do that without serious consideration,” Severus said. “On that you have my word.”

“What if Hermione walks into a bookstore and Ron is already—“

Hermione huffed a laugh.

“Okay, _fine_. What if she walks into a _pub_ and he’s already there?”

“I will include a component that warns him that Miss Granger is nearby. The charm will cause his fingers to get increasingly numb as he approaches her. He will not be able to claim that he had no knowledge she was close by. He won’t get sent to Azkaban for simply shopping in Diagon Alley.”

Harry was silent for a minute. “Let’s think about it overnight, okay?”

“Okay.” She hesitated. “Harry…you realize, if we do this it will appear that you lost a power struggle with Kingsley.”

“I don’t give a fuck. I just want him gone.” But as to whether Harry was referring to Ron or Kingsley, Hermione had no idea.

* * *

 

Severus heaved his lean form off her and settled in behind her back, spooning his body up against hers. His breath was fast and heavy in her ear. “Fuck, Hermione. That was…well, fuck, that was…bloody hell, that was great…just…fucking great…”

She chuckled. She loved that she could reduce Severus Snape’s standard eloquence to near-babbles and salient curses. At the moment, though, proverbial pots calling kettles _black_ came to mind: she imagined she appeared as disheveled as he sounded. A sheen of sticky sweat covered her brow; her thighs were similarly sticky, although, deliciously, not from sweat. She could only imagine what her disobedient hair looked like. She didn’t mind, however. She loved playing the part of some pleasantly ravaged female because of their…endeavors.

Truthfully, it had never occurred to Hermione that afternoons could be spent in such a delightful way. They had made love slowly and deliberately, blanketing each other soft kisses and touches so gentle they could be barely felt; they had grabbed for each other fiercely, with teeth and fingernails and fingers pressing hard into each other’s flesh. And the _delightful_ afternoon bled into the evening, which in turn, bled into night. Exhausted, they had fallen asleep far past midnight on the chocolate leather, having never made it to the bedroom.

* * *

 

Hermione awoke in the muted light of early morning. She smiled: his arms were wrapped around her. At some point Severus must have conjured a second blanket, because she was not only comfortable, but also quite warm, even though the fire had fled the hearth hours ago. She recalled the first night she lay at his side in the infirmary and he had said _I want to make love to you in my bed—in our bed—for hours and hours on end._ She giggled: they were hard pressed to make it off the couch, never mind travel all the way into the bedroom. Unlike those first nights in the infirmary, however, she was savoring his skin on hers, and his desire was evident between them. He stirred and she moved to face him.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Since the lady has already been sated—“ Hermione said, interrupted by a kiss mid-sentence, “temporarily sated, that is—“ she tried to continue but his lips stopped her words again, “what does the gentleman wish?”

“The gentleman? I see no gentleman here,” he said with a smirk.

“I do.”

“You are less observant than your reputation suggests, Gryffindor. Gentlemen would never entertain the thoughts I am currently enjoying.”

She kissed him deeply, breathing him in. “Their loss.”

“I’m afraid everything you do only increases my…hunger.”

“Humor me and allow me to call you a gentleman, just for fun. So, what does the gentleman wish? Perhaps…” She ran her fingers down his chest.

“The gentleman wishes to bond the lady.”

Her fingers froze half way down his abdomen. _What…?_ _Oh_. She felt her face flush and swallowed hard. “You would like to bond me?”

“Your hearing seems to have survived last night’s…exertions.” He reached up to trace her jawline with his fingertip. “I realize you may find this a bit…premature. But yes, that is what I said.” He paused. “I have…little to offer you. I will never attain the wealth of an ancient pureblood family. My name can garner as much loathing as praise. Our life together may—“

She placed her forefinger on his lips. “Severus…you do not need to convince me. I am already yours, bonded or no.” She blinked. “Wait. _Do you mean right now?”_ she asked, panic infusing her question.

“I can think of no better time.”

She hadn’t a stitch of clothing on; she was in desperate need of a hairbrush, a toothbrush, and a shower...and, perhaps, a calendar. How long had it been since she reached for him in the darkness to still his nightmares? How long had it been since his lips touched hers for the first time? Had they even been lovers for a week?

What did _time_ matter, in the end? They had found each other both yesterday and an eternity ago. Her love for him had always been a fundamental part of her being—she just hadn’t discovered it until he had turned his dark gaze on her. It was this paradox that staggered her: without him, she would have never unlocked the essence of who she was. The bonding was unnecessary. She was, and had always been, already his.

“The lady agrees,” she said, finding her voice and smiling at him as a tear threatened.

“Do you know the words, Hermione?” He chuckled as she raised an eyebrow in a mimic of his. “Forget I asked.”

She nodded. His infinitely dark eyes locked on hers. He took both her hands in his and he began to speak. “I bond with thee…” It was then that she jumped in, speaking faster to catch up until they were both reciting the ancient words in unison. “…to thee and only thee, in heart and spirit, mind and magic. This bond is my oath, this oath is my bond, for all my days.”

Magic tickled around them, arching about and momentarily coalescing in a brilliant silver-white loop that circled their hands. It was done. Not the white dress extravaganza she had envisioned when she was a little girl. No champagne toasts, no cousins sporting candy-pink bridesmaid dresses, no chocolate fountains. Fate, thank Merlin, had been much better to her than that.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“And I, you, Hermione. Always.”

* * *

 

The morning passed as most mornings do. Breakfast was eaten and the elves arrived to tidy up. The gossip column was read. Severus tarried in the garden by the Valerian, which was proving to be fussy in its new home. Hermione made tea.

The morning was different, too, in profound ways. _Her husband_ had gifted her a knowing smile from across the kitchen table as he passed the toast. _Her husband_ had shared a shower with her. _Her husband_ had brought her hand to his lips to feather kisses across her knuckles before she sat down to read.

Hermione was baffled. How could the world be so oblivious to this fundamental change? _Everything_ was different. _Merlin, she was bonded to Severus Snape._ As soon as the official paperwork was filed in the Ministry, she could claim his name. _Madam Hermione Snape._

She smiled again, uncontrollably. _Her husband_ had just come in from the garden, sat down next to her on the couch, and presented her with a single wild rose. She expected the world to start dancing in celebration. Any minute now.

* * *

 

Minister Shacklebolt returned to the cottage late that morning. He swept in the front door and dismissed Severus’s offer to sit with an arrogant wave of his hand. “What is it that you want, Headmaster Snape?” Kingsley began, the use of Severus’s title setting the tone for his visit.

“My primary objective is to keep Miss Granger safe. Obviously, punishment for Mr. Weasley is also paramount.”

“Continue.”

“First of all, we expect Mr. Weasley to attend an inpatient detox programme as well as counseling at St Mungo’s.”

“Seems appropriate,” Kingsley said, with a minute nod of his head.

“These programmes are primarily to assist Mr. Weasley in overcoming his penchant for mixing alcohol with anger. There is the matter of punishment, however. It needs to be addressed.”

“You mean a consequence of sorts.”

“Miss Granger is concerned for her safety, as she well should be. Mr. Weasley has not been successful in keeping an appropriate distance from her.” Severus paused. “I have created a charm that will enforce it.”

“How so?”                                 

Severus slipped into a pedagogical tone. “Mr. Weasley would be the recipient of a permanent modified trace charm. Should Mr. Weasley breach a pre-agreed distance from Miss Granger, an alert will sound in the Auror Office. At that time, Mr. Weasley will no longer be able to Apparate or leave the area. The trace will allow Aurors to Apparate directly to Mr. Weasley’s location and…assess the situation.”

“Conditions?”

Severus cocked an eyebrow. “First, Mr. Weasley remains in custody or St Mungo’s while the charm is tested and reviewed. Second, I will be the only one permitted to remove the charm, save Miss Granger. Third,” he said as he locked eyes with the Minister, “Should Mr. Weasley trigger the charm, he will be automatically and immediately remanded to Azkaban _without a trial_.”

“For how long?”

“We are somewhat open to negotiations on that point.”

Kingsley frowned, considering. “We would need the Aurors office to test and approve the charm, of course.” He paused momentarily. “And Ronald Weasley must agree to it.”

“If he does not, we will move for an extensive, prolonged, and quite…public trial. We will demand Mr. Weasley be brought up on attempted murder charges, based on the particulars of the event and also based on the fact that it was his second attack on Miss Granger.”

Even Hermione could see that Kingsley did not know that it had not been Ron’s first violence against her. “Based on the particulars of the case?” he pressed.

“Yes. The specifics of this incident suggest Mr. Weasley sought out Miss Granger with a plan, the sole purpose of which was to cause extensive harm to her person.”

Silence.

“You won’t have the Prophet.” Kingsley strutted around the small sitting room looking pompous and self-satisfied.

Hermione tried to match his expression from her chair. “You won’t have the Quibbler.” She smiled. “Or Harry Potter.”

Kingsley pursed his lips and gazed out the window. After a few silent minutes, he said, “Consider it done. If Ronald Weasley agrees to it, that is.”

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

An anonymous owl tap-tap-tapped on the window and Hermione opened it to give the bird access to the cottage's tiny kitchen. She untied and unrolled the owl-post. "It's from Kingsley. Ron has been moved to St Mungo's inpatient detox. He's scheduled to get counseling there, too. Apparently, Ron will agree to the charm under the condition that he gets to see me one last time."

"He doesn't get to set conditions," Severus snarled, looking up from the _Prophet_.

Hermione set the parchment down on the counter. "I'm fine with it, Severus. I'd like to give him the chance to apologize if he wants to."

"But I stay," Severus added, in a tone that said his presence was non-negotiable.

"If you insist."

"Come here," he said. Hermione walked over and sat down next to him at the table. "What's bothering you?" he asked, turning his dark eyes on her.

"We don't know for certain that Ron _planned_ to throw me down the stairs."

"That's true. But it doesn't change the fact that he did. And we can be almost certain he planned to cause you more harm."

"What if he screws up and gets sent to Azkaban because of the charm?"

"You are having second thoughts." It was a statement, not a question.

"Maybe." She took a deep breath. "He didn't mean to do it. He would never have done it if he hadn't been drinking. The alcohol changes him. He's not really himself anymore after he starts drinking."

"I understand that's how you feel, but he is still responsible for his actions."

"I'm his friend—or at least I was. And he's hurting. I'm the only person who can help him navigate this. Harry and Ginny can't. His family can't. I was the only one left, the only one who could. And now I'm gone. What's he going to do without me?"

"Fixing Mr. Weasley is no longer your concern." He reached out for her hand. "You need to listen to me very carefully, angel." His somber eyes pinned and bound her, but his voice was kind.

"Is there going to be a test later?" she asked with a shy smile, trying to break the tension.

He granted her a half-smile in return. "A N.E.W.T. level exam. And it's pass-fail." He paused and the half-smile vanished. "Hermione, hear me. Nearly three-quarters of the domestic violence murders happen _after_ the victim has left. Almost forty percent of female murder victims—two women a week—die at the hands of someone that is, or was, an intimate partner."

"But we never—"

"That's not my point. It doesn't matter if you were…" his lips twisted as if he had eaten something distasteful, " _physically intimate_ with Mr. Weasley or not."

She leaned forward to cradle her head in her hands. "I'm sure for witches..." she mumbled from under her now-trembling fingers.

"Yes, these are Muggle statistics. Information is not available for witches, but it's very likely they are worse. I need you to understand how dangerous this situation continues to be."

"I was never really in danger living there."

" _Hermione_. If I have to throw more statistics at you in order for you to listen, I will."

She looked up at that. "But—"

He cut across her, raising his voice only a fraction. "A third of women continue to experience violence even after they have ended their relationship. That's _you_." His eyes were steel. "My mother never listened, and I lost her. _I will not lose you_. Use your formidable intellect and _think_. Ronald Weasley is a threat, even now. You, alone, cannot fix him."

"You can't blame him for being angry. His brother was murdered."

"As was my mum."

 _Sweet Merlin, Severus said_ mum. For the briefest of moments, she glimpsed the innocent boy in the photo on his bedroom dresser, holding his mother's hand against a future that would take her from him forever. Had her loss been the first thing that set him on the path that had given him fewer and fewer choices, until his life was no longer his own? The path that saw him whipped and tortured in imaginable ways? Branded with the Mark? The path that ended with him prostrate at Voldemort's feet?

Her heart shattered.

"You must never let your guard down. You must never hesitate to protect yourself. And if he breaks the conditions of the agreement, you must accept that there will be consequences for him. Do this for me."

Hermione looked at him, feeling her eyes prick with tears. "I promise, Severus."

* * *

 

Severus appeared in the doorway, eyebrow cocked, Earl Grey decaf in hand. He took a sip. "I'd like to make you dinner tomorrow night."

"Severus, you make me dinner every night. You have only let me cook for you once."

"Once was all that was required," he said as he regarded her over the rim of the teacup.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Very funny."

"Allow me to rephrase. I would like to make you a special dinner tomorrow night."

"All right."

"We will be celebrating your nineteenth birthday, a little early."

She chuckled. "You mean my twentieth."

"Your twentieth?"

"The Ministry officially changed my age after Fourth Year when I used the Time Turner to attend double classes. Merlin knows, I suppose they will add another year once they figure out when I've been for those seven weeks. If I keep using it, pretty soon I'll be as ancient as you."

He smirked. "So the Ministry can officially change someone's age. Their hubris knows no bounds."

"They like to rewrite history. But even though it's supposed to be my official age, I wasn't allowed to use it to test a year earlier for my Apparition License."

Severus huffed laugh. "I can only imagine how pleased you must have been." He crossed the room towards her.

"I owled Fudge's office and everything. No luck." He sat down next to her and gifted her an indulgent smile as she continued. "I suppose you would have discovered that when we went to sign the bonding paperwork."

"When would you like to do that?"

She smiled. "Whenever you'd like, Severus."

"Are you ready for the world to know?"

"Of course." She kissed him briefly, tenderly. "How about tomorrow? We could celebrate both events."

"Tomorrow? Absolutely." He returned the kiss and raised an eyebrow. "But if you don't have any objections, I'd like to start celebrating now…"

* * *

 

The following afternoon, Hermione stepped into her green dress and twisted to appraise herself in the bathroom mirror. Had it been only ten days since she'd worn it for their first night together here, at the cottage? Merlin, how many things had happened since she'd worn it last? Today would witness yet another change. Today, she was on her way to the Ministry with Severus to sign the bonding paperwork. She was on her way to officially recognized as Severus Snape's wife.

She picked up her wand to spell her hair yet _again_ and noticed that her hand was shaking. She took a deep breath. It wasn't as though she was unsure. She was as certain about this bonding as she had been about anything she had chosen to do in her life. They were already magically bonded, for Merlin's sake—the only thing left was the paperwork, making it official in the eyes of the Ministry. And she wanted to sign the documents. Badly.

She was…stunned, that was all. Shocked that he had chosen to bond her.

And, honestly, still a bit terrified.

As the green flames subsided and the familiar twist of Flooing faded from her skin, she gazed around at the Ministry's echoing, marble-clad lobby. It was nearly empty. Hermione turned to the fireplace next to hers to see Severus brushing himself off. Equal parts breathless, nervous, and eager, she found it almost impossible not to grab Severus's hand and _run_ to the Office of Registrations.

He reached out for her and she interlaced her fingers in his. Merlin, her heart might melt. As they walked hand in hand to the lift, she felt the weight of hungry, appraising stares following them. Hermione wasn't surprised. Clad in his tailored dress robes, her bondmate was a powerful sight: lean, tall, angular, dark. Dangerous. _Delicious_.

No doubt his Order of Merlin, First Class had only added to his appeal.

The paperwork was brief. A wizard she did not recognize confirmed their magical bonding with a wave of his wand and set a quill and parchment in front of them to sign.

And then it was done. She was now officially Mrs. Hermione Snape.

* * *

 

They had walked back to the lobby's Floo Network hand in hand, silent as the gravity of what they had done settled into their bones. Back at their cottage, Hermione left Severus in the sitting room and went to freshen up. Merlin, what was making her skittish?

He met her as she reached the doorway from the bedroom to the sitting room, handing her a glass of red wine. "Hello."

"Hello."

"Is everything all right?"

She smiled at him softly. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry."

"Come here."

His arms pulled her in. "Processing what we did today?"

"I guess so." She pressed herself closer into his chest. "It's not that I had any doubts. I didn't. I don't."

"I know, angel." He dipped his head to brush her lips with his own. "I love you, Hermione."

How well he knew her: it was precisely what she so desperately needed to hear, although she hadn't known what was until he voiced it. She smiled as a tear escaped and darkened his white dress shirt. "I love you, too, Severus."

* * *

 

When they had their fill of dinner and the elves had vanished the remains of their meal with a few snaps of their fingers, Hermione and Severus retired to sitting room, fingers interlaced, wine glasses in hand. They settled on the couch, the cool leather driving her need to be nearer to him. He draped his arm around her shoulders and drew her close.

"Indulge me," Severus said after a moment of watching the flames twisting in the fireplace.

She looked at him questioningly. Pulling away, he lifted his wand from the side table and conjured a thick plush rug for the floor in front of the fire. He got up, and settled himself on it. "Come here," he said. "By the fire."

She obeyed, bringing the wine with her. "Hmmm…" she said as she positioned himself next to him.

"Yes…?"

"I was remembering something you said to me: _I want to lie with you on soft rugs in front of a fire, and kiss you until we both can no longer speak._ "

"You have a good memory, angel," he said with a mischievous smile. "Apparently, I'm going to have to watch what I say around you."

"Say anything you like. Especially something like that. Just remember that I'll consider it a bit of a challenge."

"A challenge?"

"Yes. I'd like to see if we can. Kiss until we both can't speak, that is."

"Let's," he said pulling her down into the softness with him.

* * *

 

"You, my Potions Master, are one hell of a shag." Hermione took a long, lazy swallow of her wine, looking over at the lean form of her sweaty bondmate. He was still breathing heavily.

He chuckled. "Your Potions Master?" he managed.

She pulled her fingertips slowly down his chest. "Yup. My Potions Master. _Mine_." Maybe, just maybe, she'd had too much wine. She certainly hadn't had too much sex.

"And you are my angel." He turned on his side, propping his head up in his hand. He took a drink from her glass. "Hermione, do you know why I call you that?"

"Actually, nope," she said, her tongue no longer completely cooperating. Exactly how much wine had she drank?

"Because the first night you came to me in the infirmary, I thought I was dreaming, and that's what I thought you were. An angel."

"Merlin, Severus, it sounds like you write Muggle romance novels."

"How do you know I haven't? Perhaps I am the most famous novelist the Muggle world has ever known. I—"

"You mean _infamous_." She took another deep drink. "Wait. Wait. Let me guess your pen name…" He got up unsteadily and walked around behind her. "Severus, where are you going?"

"To get the dictionary you snuck onto my bookshelf. So I can show you what _infamous_ actually means."

She giggled and drained the glass.

He sat back down next to her, the dictionary in hand. "Let me see…" It fell open somewhere in the middle, and he flipped through until he found the right place. He ran his finger down the page…and stopped as the text began to shimmer, until every single entry read:

 

 **Generous** [ **jen-er- _uh_ s] /ˈdʒɛn ər əs/ adjective**

**1\. liberal in giving or sharing; unselfish: _a generous patron of the arts; a generous gift._**

**_As in: "Severus Snape is a generous man with regards to his bookshelf."_ **

 

He laughed. "Nice piece of magic, angel."

"Do you remember…?" She rolled to her side to face him.

"In fact, I do. That was very clever." His dark eyes took her in, the smirk-smile making her heart skip. "Now where were we?"

"You were telling me why you call me _angel_."

"No, before that. I think you were right…here." He pulled her hand to his chest and dragged it downward.

"I see I will get as little sleep here as when you were in the infirmary."

"But it will be a sight better than playing chess, I'll wager." His lips met hers. "I would rather play with you than with a chess set any day," he said around his kiss.

Hermione groaned and rolled onto her back. "Rather play with me than a chess set? Merlin, Severus, that…that was _terrible_. Just terrible. The worst joke I've ever heard."

He smirked. "Not as bad as the one I was about to make about tipping my queen. I thought the better if it."

"Severus Snape, second guessing himself? A moment for the ages. Excuse me while I call Skeeter at the _Prophet_."

"I'm sure she would love to interview you right at this moment." He made a point to look up at her mussed hair. "I think she might insist on a photo."

She rolled onto her side. "Miss Granger?" Hermione imitated Rita Skeeter's nasally voice, peering at him over invisible glasses. "Is that Headmaster Snape lying next to you? Tell us, what is he really like in bed? A reliable source has told the Prophet that he is simply insatiable. Details, if you would, Miss Granger."

"And who, pray tell, would she have gotten that information from, if not you?"

"I'm sorry, Master Snape, we never divulge our sources," she continued in the reporter's annoying drone.

"Perhaps I can persuade you," he said, flipping her on her back and pinning her down underneath him.

"You think?" Hermione said with a wry smile.

"I have innumerable methods at my disposal," he purred, grabbing both her wrists in his hand and pulling them over her head.

"Do they include torture?"

"Oh, yes. Delicious torture." He smirked.

"Delicious," she echoed as she closed her eyes. "Absolutely delicious."

* * *

 

They had fallen asleep lulled by the softness of the rug in front of the dying fire. Hermione awoke to Severus stirring behind her. She rolled over to face him in the near-darkness.

He raised a finger to her lips to stop her from speaking, as if one simple word would break some deep, ancient spell that blanketed them. He simply stared at her, watching, entranced. He seemed curious to see what she would do under his unwavering gaze.

She knew exactly what to do. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she drew him closer and moved to kiss him slowly, deeply, keeping her eyes open so she could watch him in return. As she kissed him, they were one: his breath filled her lungs; his tongue was her own; his sighs came from her throat. She fell into the man touching her, body and soul.

A lifetime later, yet far too soon, he broke their kiss. "Hermione."

"Hmmmm?"

"If I…would you consider…wearing a wedding ring?" he asked softly.

"I would love to." She paused to try to decipher why he would have stumbled over the question. "Would you?"

"I would."

"I will take you to Hogsmeade tomorrow afternoon and you can choose one."

"That sounds perfect. I love you, Severus."

"And I, you."

* * *

 

Hermione looked up from measuring loose tea into the teapot just as the CRACK of Apparition snapped through the air. From the open window, she could see five wizards standing in their front yard. Harry was holding Ron roughly by the shirt; they were flanked by two stoic Aurors and the Minister. She recognized Urquart and Tudorov, the two wizards who had visited her in the infirmary. Kingsley was a step behind, his wand out, scanning the lawn as if he were expecting to find some dark enemy lurking there.

The boys seemed to be posturing. Ron wrested his shoulder out of Harry's grip and pushed him away. "Bloody hell!" he snarled. "Keep your hands off me!"

Hermione opened the door and went outside. She felt Severus looming close behind her. "Minister," she said, tipping her head slightly in greeting.

Kingsley pursed his lips but didn't reply. Harry stepped forward and grabbed Ron's shoulder again, pushing him towards Hermione. "Before we do anything else, this bloody arse is going to apologize to you." Harry turned to Ron, with a look of disgust. "You are going to fix this! NOW!" he bellowed. _Fix this? There was no 'fixing' this._

"Ron, please come in." Hermione held the front door open wide. "Give us a minute," she said, pointedly looking at Harry. He stared back at her and gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

Ron twisted away from Harry's hold and stepped forward. He crossed the threshold, his head low, reminding Hermione of a beaten dog. Severus followed, shutting the door with a soft click.

Hermione hadn't planned on saying anything at all. But as she stared at Ron, she found she was unable to stay silent. "You almost killed me. Do you understand? _You almost killed me_."

"'Mione, I'm sorry. I know an apology will never be enough—"

"I never want to see you again," Hermione said, cutting across him. "Ever."

Ron lunged forward, grabbing her jumper. " _Please_ , 'Mione—"

"Don't touch me!" Hermione hissed, hand automatically reaching for her wand.

"Get your hands off my wife," Severus growled from behind her, wand already drawn.

Ron froze. _"What?"_

"If you insist on making me repeat my statement, Mister Weasley, I will be forced to do something that you will no doubt find…regrettable," he said, soft as a whisper.

" _Fine_ ," he said snidely. Ron let go of her jumper as if he were dropping something vile. "You _bonded_ the greasy git?" he asked, coming far too close to her face with his own.

Severus's wand was suddenly pressing to the soft flesh under Ron's jaw. "Up until now, my wife has stayed my hand with regards to you, but I think that time has now past…"

"SEVERUS! STOP!" Hermione screamed and took hold of Severus's shoulders, unable to put herself completely between the two men with Severus's wand at Ron's jaw. "Do you want to go to Azkaban _and die in jail_? Or would you rather spend the rest of your life with me?" she whispered. "I need you. Watching over me."

"I—" Ron began.

Severus didn't move. "Mister Weasley, I did not give you permission to speak. I do, however, give you permission to _listen_. Should you ever, ever come near my wife again, I will flay...you…alive. Charm or no. You will never make it to Azkaban. And should you ever need to address her in the future, you will address her as Madam Snape. Understood?"

Ron nodded as much as he could with Severus's wand still pushing into his skin. "We're done here," Hermione said as coldly as she could and turned to open the front door. Kingsley raised an eyebrow as his gaze took in Severus lowering his wand.

Ron stepped outside, his jaw clenched, his eyes, fiery.

Kingsley cleared his throat. "I am here, in the presence of these witnesses, to place a permanent charm on you, Ronald Billius Weasley. As a reminder, this charm will allow you to be monitored by the Ministry and requires that you remain at least one hundred feet from Miss Granger at all times. Should you come within one hundred feet, an alarm will sound in the Aurors Office and you will be immediately be taken to Azkaban without an opportunity for trial. Do you understand these conditions and agree to them in front of these witnesses?"

"Fine."

Hermione grabbed Severus's hand as Kingsley stepped closer to Ron. "The charm has a five minute delay built into it. Mr. Weasley, you will Apparate back to the Ministry with us once the charm has been cast. After signing some obligatory paperwork, you will be released."

Hermione felt Severus stiffen at the last. She gripped his hand tighter.

"Whatever," Ron said. Apparently, he was attempting to sound bored. Harry gave him a dark look.

The Minister trained his wand on one of her best friends. Ron turned his back to her. _Former best friend_ , she amended. Harry met her eye as Kingsley raised his wand. _"S_ _ignum_ _P_ _ropinqua_ _!"_ A ribbon of green light momentarily twisted around Ron then faded.

"It's done. Severus. Hermione. Good day," Kingsley said and they disappeared, leaving the front yard as empty as part of her heart.

* * *

 

Tea was finally brewed; plans were made. They decided to visit Hogsmeade after lunch. Somehow knowing she needed comfort, Severus held her hand throughout a nearly silent breakfast.

An owl flew in the open glass. She sighed. "I just want to be left alone." The bird landed on the table, holding out its leg for Hermione to remove a note and a small brown paper package. Hermione unfurled the parchment to reveal a vaguely familiar hand:

 

_Severus and Hermione,_

_Congratulations to you both._

_I hope you enjoy this housewarming gift even though, strictly speaking, I suppose that you will not need it any longer._ Engorgio _should do it._

_Poppy_

 

"The word is out," Severus said.

"That didn't take long." She peered at the brown package without touching it. "Do you think its poison? A bomb? Certainly it has to be something deadly."

"No. That wouldn't fit the description on the parchment. Besides, she'd know I'd be nearby and she wouldn't want to hurt me," he said smugly.

"Hmph."

"Give it to me. I'll do it." He took the package and placed it on the kitchen floor. _"Engorgio!"_

And then it appeared, bursting from the tiny brown paper to stand innocently in the middle of the kitchen floor.

Hermione laughed. "My chair!"

"Your chair." Severus chuckled and put his arms around her. "And I agree with Poppy. You won't need to use it ever again."

* * *

 

Hermione had wandered into their bedroom to brush her hair before their walk into town. Severus came up behind her, encircled her in his arms, and bent to kiss her shoulders. "Do you think we might have time before we go to…?"

"No wonder Skeeter's sources say you're insatiable. You are." She turned to face him. "Not that I'm complaining," Hermione responded with a slow smile and moved to lay back on the bed.

He undressed her slowly, teasing with each languid motion, pressing a warm, dry kiss into newly-exposed skin each time he unfastened another one of her shirt's buttons. As he traveled down her body, she closed her eyes. When her shirt was fully open, she felt him splay his hands across her body, moving them upward and pressing them firmly into her flesh until he moved them gently over her bra. She opened her eyes and shrugged out of both shirt and bra, and reached pull off her denims. She left the rest—little as it was—for him. Cocking his eyebrow, he vanished her panties wordlessly.

"Really, Severus, I'm not going to have any kickers left at this pace."

"Exactly," he said, gifting her a grand smirk and descending to her belly to kiss it.

"You want me prancing around Hogsmeade with no knickers on?"

"It saves me time. I can be assured that you're immediately available. Any time. Anywhere."

"Evil man."

"See how well you know me?" he smirked.

"You've become a tad predicable, you know."

"Have I? Perhaps I should change things up a bit, then." He placed himself gently on top of her, slowly pulling her arms up over her head then locking them in an unyielding grip with one of his. With his other hand, he cupped her breast as his tongue rolled over her nipple.

"Oh." She fought not to squirm. "You seem to be…" She gasped as he toyed with her nipple with his teeth. "…still fully dressed."

"So I am." He moved on to her other nipple. "Care to assist me with that?"

She hitched her breath as he got a bit more…aggressive. "I seem to be…" She tested his grip on her wrists. "…indisposed at the moment."

"Ah…" Instead of letting her go, he unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers with his free hand, and pulled them down only a few inches. She let her legs fall fully open and he entered her with one urgent thrust.

 _Deeper,_ she thought, and pushed against his grip. He let her wrists go and she put her hands on his backside to pull him farther each time he moved. She closed her eyes to concentrate on the feeling. Merlin, it was so… _good_. She heard her name tear from his lips and she cried out, matching his intensity. "More," she whispered as his breath finally stilled.

"As the lady wishes." He flashed her a smile-smirk and this man she adored—her protector, her lover, her _bondmate_ —moved to place himself gently on top of her again.

* * *

 

 **A/N:** I am no expert on domestic violence. The sources for the statistics mentioned in the story above will be listed in my profile should you need or want them. Love you all, -slbb


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to credit one of my awesome readers, Mangodress, for the inspiration for a part of this chapter.  
> My apologies for the late update. I was pulled into a writers’ competition and spent far too much time on my entry (I know, excuses, excuses). Thank you for your patience with me.  
> We are nearly at the end of this tale. Thanks for reading!  
> -slbb

The door behind Hermione swung shut with a bump and a tinkle of bells. She entered the dark jewelry shop, Severus trailing closely behind. The proprietor emerged from the back, nodding in hello and illuminating the sconces on the walls with a wave of his wand.

“How may I help you?”

Hermione spied a diamond necklace that she wanted to touch, but thought the better of it.

“My wife and I are shopping for wedding rings.”

Hermione felt herself flush at his words and approached the cases, moving her wand from her front pocket to her back one so she could easily lean over the glass.

“Ladies’ rings are here. Gentlemen’s rings are on the other side,” the owner said, walking to the far side of the shop to indicate the specific case. He pulled out a velvet tray and left Severus to it. “Of course, any piece can be charmed to fit,” he said, turning back to help Hermione.

Half an hour later, Hermione had tried on almost all the wedding rings in the shop. Severus came up behind her, encircling her in his arms.

“How are you doing?” he asked. “See anything you like?”

“I’m going to wear it forever so it has to be exactly the right one,” Hermione said, swiveling to face him. “I just want to be sure.”

He smirk-smiled at her. “You’re taking more time deciding on your ring than you took deciding on me.”

“You were easy! This, however…” Hermione spied another one, a bit more sparkly than the last. “May I try that one?” she asked the proprietor.

“Certainly, madam.”      

She held it up. “What do you think, Severus?”

“I like whatever you do, Hermione.”

She slipped it on and turned her hand to see it in the light from different angles. “This one. I like…this one.”

“Good,” Severus responded, leaning down to kiss her. “She’s decided,” he said to the owner.

“A fine choice,” the shopkeeper said and left to start the Gringotts transfer paperwork.

“What about you? Did you find something?” Hermione asked when they were alone, unable to look away from the new ring on her left hand.

“I’d like you to pick it out, Hermione.” She looked at him curiously. “Another day,” he said simply. “Enjoy yours today without thought for mine.”

After the purchase was complete, they strolled through Hogsmeade village on the way back to their cottage. As she moved her wand from her back pocket to her front one—momentarily holding it as she brought it around to the front of her body—a bobcat burst from the wood.

“Nonverbal Patronus? Impressive,” he said, chuckling.

“I was thinking about how happy I am—how happy you make me—when I touched it.” She beamed up at him. “I didn’t know I could do that.”

He pulled her closer. “Well, we can’t have her prancing around Hogsmeade alone,” he said, taking out his own wand and sending his panther loping after the bobcat.

Hermione watched in wonder as her Patronus stopped and turned to greet the newcomer. The cats continued playfully down the street, rubbing against each other until they disappeared around a corner a few blocks away.

_I’m so happy, that bobcat might last forever._

* * *

 

Hermione leaned against the open doorway to the backyard, watching Severus and fingering the parchment that had arrived a scant hour ago.

_Hermione,_

_I understand congratulations are in order! Word gets around at the Ministry. While I wish you would have told me, I understand why you didn’t. Besides, between getting bonded and all this stuff happening with Ron, you’ve probably been a bit busy, am I right?_

_Ginny and I wish you every happiness._

_Harry_

Her Potions Master glanced up from the garden, a handful of earth in one hand, a fledgling Henbane in the other.

“Doing okay?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she said smiling softly, “I am.”

“What do you have there?”

“It’s an owl from Harry. He and Ginny sent their congratulations.”

“Thoughtful of them,” he said.

She could see he was trying to keep his sarcasm at bay; she suppressed an even bigger smile and tried her best not to laugh outright at his effort.

“I appreciate you giving Harry a chance,” she said as seriously as she could.

He looked at her, his dark eyes now mirthful. “Anything for you, angel.”

“Anything?” she said, walking over and raising an eyebrow.

“Anything.” He set the young plant in its new home and packed the dirt around it. “I’m almost done. And you can see that this endeavor has made me very…dirty. I do believe a bath is in order.”

“Funny you should mention that. I’ve just finished _A Study in Advanced Charms_ and it was ever so…dusty. I think I need to change my clothes. I might even be persuaded that I need a good soak myself.”

“If you would like to run the water…”

“I’ll see you inside.”

* * *

 

When they had finally emerged from the bathroom, it was nearly evening. Severus had set about cooking yet another delightful dinner. As she sat at the dining room table now, deliciously sated, she glanced down once more at the diamond gracing her third finger, and she was unable to contain a smile yet again.

Severus chuckled and reached over to pour her more wine. “Happy birthday, Wife—just a bit early.”

She felt herself blush. The title still felt new and fragile, as if it were written in ink that was not quite dry.

“Thank you, Husband,” she replied, relishing the feel of the last word on her tongue.

He reached into his pocket and retrieved a small black box, silently laying it on the surface between them and nudging it towards her. She looked up from the gift to his infinitely dark eyes. They were unreadable.

“It is a small thing…just a token…” He let his sentence trail off. “I have no way to tell you,” he stumbled. “Words fail me.” He paused a moment, seemingly to collect himself. “I can only give you this: should I ever suffer the misfortune of being Obliviated and all else fell away, I would still know you, and I would still know I loved you. I would still be certain I am yours and you are mine. I will always know.”

Hermione reached for his hand and fought the tears that threatened. “You have given me more than you understand—more than you know, Severus.”

He nudged the box closer to her. “Open it, Hermione.”

She untied the white satin ribbon. Inside was a diamond necklace nestled in black velvet—the one she’d seen in the shop in Hogsmeade.

“Severus…” she said, touching it gently. “You noticed.”

“I never fail to notice you,” he said and she grinned. He smiled softly in reply and rose from the table to approach her. “I’m glad you like it. I owled the shop while you were inside reading.”

“Thank you. It’s so beautiful.”

“Come,” he said softly, pulling her gently to her feet and leading her to the deep brown leather couch in the adjacent room. She folded herself into its cushions and he settled in next to her, tenderly tucking a curl behind her ear and placing his hands gently on either side of her face. He locked his eyes on hers.

“There is something I would like to show you. Would you permit me…?” he whispered.

She nodded.

“ _Legilimens_ ,” she whispered and suddenly she could see hundreds of memories he had presumably pushed to the surface: images of her through his eyes.

There were almost too many to choose from. She picked one to open…and gasped.

Her body was arched under his, her nipples taut in the chilly night air of the bedroom. He was slowly making love to her, dragging himself deliciously in and out of her warmth. She sensed what it was like to be her lover: she felt her own flesh pressing in on him, surrounding him, wet and soft. She felt him hold his overwhelming need for her at bay, balancing the moment of pleasure with his hunger for release.

He floated another image towards her.

A memory of her looked up to regard him, the reflection of the bedroom’s fireplace in her brown eyes. She was sitting cross legged on their bed reading, loosely wearing his white button down shirt, one that he had cast off before taking his shower. She felt the towel draped loosely around his waist; she sensed the cold midnight air sweeping over his back and licking his wet hair.

Through Severus’s mind, she began to understand: from his vantage point, the sight of her happily perched on his bed simply staggered him.

It wasn’t that she was just light to his darkness; it had never been that simple. Instead, he considered her to be the essence of all his desires: she was velvet to his austerity, agile and graceful where he was inflexible. Gone was the grudging respect for her intelligence; it had been replaced by a genuine regard for her ability, a palpable appreciation for her drive to know and understand.

As he stood dripping on the threshold to the bedroom, his memory of her smiled at him. He gazed back at her with an awe that bordered on worship. _She’s my wife_ , his thoughts echoed, _my_ _wife_ , and a fierce possessiveness—and need to protect her—gripped his soul.

She was beauty and solace and comfort. She was all that he had never believed he would know in this lifetime. And she was _his_.

And he had become whole by losing himself within her.

Severus broke their link and kissed her, slowly and deeply. “It is the only way I know to show you,” he whispered, “how much I care for you.”

“I love you,” Hermione whispered back, hoping her simple words were somehow enough.

* * *

 

“I’m so bloody sick of owls,” Hermione sighed, hanging her head and not moving towards the Hogwarts post-bird hopping around on their kitchen counter the next morning.

Severus smiled sadly and relieved the bird of the rolled up parchment. “It’s from Poppy. She’s asked us to meet her in the Hogwarts infirmary at 3pm.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t say.”

“Should we go?”

“Since it’s Poppy…” he continued with a smile-smirk, “I think it’s wise to keep her happy.”

“Why do I feel like she’s always in charge, no matter what?” Hermione teased.

Severus cocked an eyebrow and just stared at her.

“All right, fine. While I’m there, I can thank her in person for sending my chair.”

* * *

 

When Hermione and Severus arrived at the Hogwarts infirmary office, they found that Poppy was not alone. Harry was seated at the desk across from the mediwitch, fidgeting. He looked as if he would rather be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Hermione stole a glance at her bondmate; he raised an eyebrow in response.

“Mr. Potter,” Severus said.

“Professor,” Harry responded, standing and offering his hand.

Severus took it and they sat down.

Poppy cleared her throat. “I suppose you are curious as to why we asked you here. Last night, Mr. Potter brought Ronald Weasley to the infirmary for me to attend.”

“I’m sorry?” Hermione asked. “What does this have to do with—“

“Ron busted up his hand,” Harry said, turning to her, his eyes grim.

“Busted up his hand?” Hermione echoed.

“By punching through the wall in his room at Grimmauld. The healing was beyond me. He needed Madam Pomfrey.”

Hermione turned to look at Severus. He was staring at Harry, his lips pulled in thin line.

“He had seven broken bones; several were compound fractures. There were also dislocations, deep lacerations, and significant swelling. Without an experienced healer, he might not have regained the use of all of his fingers,” Poppy said emotionlessly.

“Wait. Why was he at Grimmauld and not St. Mungo’s?” Hermione asked. “He’s supposed to be in inpatient detox for thirty days.”

“He was released after only three. Arthur Weasley pulled some strings—at least that’s what I heard. I assumed you knew,” Harry answered, a bit sheepishly. “I guess not.”

Severus cursed under his breath.

No one said anything for a moment.

Hermione broke the silence. “But why here? Why didn’t he go to St. Mungo’s for treatment?”

“When I insisted that he needed to see a healer, he asked to come here. I assume because it would be easier to keep things quiet at Hogwarts. St. Mungo’s may have drawn the Ministry’s attention.”

“But why was he at Grimmauld at all?”

“I had given him until the end of the week to find his own place. He didn’t want to go back to the Burrow,” Harry said, pushing his glasses up his nose and shrugging slightly. “He said it was an accident, but I knew better. Said he’d tripped and landed on it. Not bloody likely, from what I could tell. And not based on what the wall in his room looked like.”

“Had he been drinking?”

“I think so,” Harry said, frowning.

“Why call us?” Severus asked.

A look passed between Poppy and Harry.

“I didn’t believe his story,” Harry said simply.

“Obviously.” Severus pressed his lips together even harder than before—and waited.

Harry paused. “I may or may not have slipped him Veritaserum and asked him some questions about what he was thinking when it happened.”

She saw Severus raise an eyebrow. Poppy’s face remained expressionless.

“Harry, using Veritaserum without authorization is a Class One offense. You could lose your job. You could go to jail!” Hermione said, leaning forward in her chair towards Harry.

“What did you expect me to do? He was lying! Besides, I was careful. There were no witnesses.”

“That’s not the point. You—“

“Allow him to continue, Hermione.” Severus turned back to Harry. “I assume we are here because of what you discovered. What was it that you discovered, Mr. Potter?”

Harry paused again. “Ron saw you in Hogsmeade yesterday. Rather, he saw your _Patronuses_ in Hogsmeade yesterday.”

Severus smirked.

“I assume he wasn’t close enough for the charm to go off otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now,” Hermione said.

“Right. After seeing them, Ron went home to Grimmauld and punched through his wall.” Harry looked uncomfortable. “Look. I got what I could out of him. He hates that you’re happy. He’s planning to hurt you, Hermione. Trying to figure out some way to make it look like an accident. And he won’t care if you wind up dead. In fact, I think he would prefer it.”

Severus had taken out his wand and started to rise. She laid her hand on his arm and he froze, halfway out of his chair. “Severus. We’ll know when he’s near. Your charm will hold.”

He seated himself again, reluctantly it seemed. He turned towards her, his eyes darker than she’d ever seen them. “He doesn’t have to be near you to harm you, Hermione. A poison—” he said softly.

Poppy chose that moment to interrupt him. “Severus, if I may. Mr. Weasley’s actions suggest that he would prefer to hurt Hermione with his bare hands rather than with another method. It would be a trifle more…satisfying for him, if you will.”

Severus nodded slowly, seeming to accept her assessment. “Did he give you any other details that might prove useful?” he asked, turning back to Harry.

“Not really. He wasn’t able to give me specifics, which tells me that he hadn’t formed them yet. I just…thought it was important that you both knew.”

At that, Severus rose. “Thank you for alerting us. If you will excuse us, we’ll be on our way.” He nodded to the two still seated around the desk. “Poppy. Mr. Potter.”

And he grabbed Hermione’s hand and hauled her out of the room, her plan to thank Poppy for her chair utterly forgotten.

* * *

 

As soon as they had reached the hall outside the infirmary, Severus Apparated them back to the cottage’s front yard. “I’ll make some tea,” Hermione said as she opened the front door. “Sit down, Severus. Talk to me.”

“This was my concern all along,” he said darkly, unbuttoning his frock coat and taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“It’s not really a surprise. It’s nothing we couldn’t have predicted, knowing Ron.” She filled the kettle. “We have the charm.”

“We do.”

“We can’t go to the Ministry,” Hermione said. “Ron hasn’t threatened me directly, and we can’t prove anything without revealing Harry’s use of the serum.”

“True.”

“He won’t be able to use a Muggle weapon effectively when he’s close. His fingers will be too numb,” she continued.

“That was my intention.”

“You’re not saying much, Severus.”

“I’m not sure what to say,” he admitted.

“So what should we do?”

“We watch. We wait,” he said, pulling his hand through his hair.

“Everything will be all right.” She set the kettle to heat and crossed the kitchen to put her arms around his shoulders. “You won’t let anything happen.”

“Of the last, you can be certain.”

* * *

 

“I thought since you are no longer headmaster, the Hogwarts elves would no longer be serving us.”

Hermione yawned and stretched as the second of the two elves exited the bedroom. She peered curiously at the two trays waiting on their respective nightstands. Their breakfast—whatever it turned out to be underneath the silver plate covers—smelled delightful. Rashers, maybe?

“You don’t enjoy breakfast in bed?” Severus asked, chuckling.

“Of course I do.” She rolled over to face him and kissed him on the cheek. “But there are other things we could enjoy in bed even more than breakfast.”

“And you call me insatiable,” he said smugly.

“You’ve created a monster. A very hungry monster.”

“A very enticing monster.” He reached over to brush a curl of rebellious hair off her face. “To answer your question, the new headmaster hasn’t officially been named yet. I’m not sure the board knows about my resignation. We would have seen it in that bloody excuse for a newspaper.”

Hermione huffed a laugh.

“Can we go to Diagon Alley today? I want to shop for a ring for you.” Hermione said, reaching for her tray. “I can’t let you continue to walk around without wearing a wedding band. I don’t want Poppy getting any ideas.”

“It’s not as if she doesn’t have them already,” he teased, retrieving the day’s _Prophet_ from under his breakfast plate. “And a ring may not stop her anyway.”

“Well, it might distract her long enough for me to drag you away.”

She lifted the lid on her plate. It was indeed rashers. She stuffed one in her mouth.

“I’d pay galleons to see that.” He smirked and unfolded the newspaper. “They are about to put Arthur on the Ministry’s throne without any messy publicity,” Severus said snidely. “And according to the _Prophet_ , Minister-elect Weasley will be in Diagon Alley today. So, I’m not sure this is the right day for a visit.”

“He’ll be in Diagon Alley? I’d probably feel better in a crowd anyway. Less chance Ron would try something with so many witnesses around,” Hermione said around a mouthful.

“I don’t necessarily agree with you,” he said, putting down the Prophet. “Crowds can hide a multitude of things.”

“The streets will be crawling with Aurors to protect Kingsley and Arthur.” She placed the tray back on her nightstand and moved closer to Severus to lay her head on his chest. “Besides, we can’t live trapped in the cottage. I refuse to live that way.”

“I don’t necessarily disagree with that.” He threaded his fingers in her hair and began to play with a curl. “You must promise me to be careful.”

“Of course,” she said and reached up to reward him with a kiss.

“Delicious,” he said, and smiled at her.

* * *

 

“It’s here,” Hermione said, squinting in the midday sun and indicating a tiny shop with jewelry neatly displayed in the window. “Wait for me right outside? I won’t be long.”

He nodded as she walked up a few stone steps and entered the shop.

_Diagon Alley Jewelry_ couldn’t have been more different than the store in Hogsmeade: it was bright and newly remodeled, with a young, smartly dressed witch at the counter.

“Hello, miss. How may I assist you today?”

“I’m looking for a wedding band for my husband,” Hermione replied. “Something with a simple design—no stones—perhaps in platinum or something similar.”

The woman behind the counter pulled out several trays of rings. Hermione scanned them and removed a plain band crafted in dark metal and palmed it to feel its weight in her hand.

“This is the one.”

“Well, that was quick, madam. Very good.”

The shopkeeper disappeared to finalize the purchase.

Hermione looked up at the growing noise outside the shop.

A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, swaying like a tide as officials from the Ministry passed by on the street. Hermione could just make out the hat atop Kingsley’s head. The entourage was closely followed by a handful of rabid reporters and photographers, all jostling to get the closer to Kingsley. Rita Skeeter led the pack, acid-green Quick-Quotes quill already scribbling furiously.

The majority of the crowd vanished in the direction of the nearby square.

The witch behind the counter returned, thanked her, and handed her a small bag. Hermione hid it inside the pocket of her robes.

Smiling, Hermione opened the door. The wind had picked up, encouraged by a line of approaching clouds. She glanced around for Severus. She found him standing a few feet down the sidewalk, his head turned away from her, his eyes trained down the alleyway across from the jewelry shop. He was staring, stock still. The breeze ruffled his robes, exposing his right hand; it was gripping his wand tightly amongst the folds of fabric. She followed his gaze.

Ron was there.

Her former best friend was leaning against the lumpy side of an ancient brick building. His arms were crossed. He was devoid of any outward mark of magic; instead, he was clad in what looked to be a battered brown leather jacket and denims. For some reason Hermione couldn’t fathom, his choice of clothing made her even more uneasy.

She met his eye. Ron stared back at her, his unmistakable ginger hair moving slightly in the breeze. He shifted then, unfolding his arms and stepping away from the alley wall. He opened and closed his fists, as if he were trying to stretch is fingers. As his coat opened, the afternoon light revealed a glint of metal tucked in his belt.

She was certain it was a knife.

He sneered at her. It was the same sneer that had mocked her before she’d been thrown down the stairs. It was the same sneer that had marked the face of a witch that had used a blade against her and nearly won.

Her hand flew protectively to her throat, the tip of her index finger brushing the scar near her jugular.

She wobbled on her feet, almost collapsing down the three stairs that led from the door to the chilly sidewalk, and stumbled to Severus’s side. He kept his gaze trained on the alley.

“He’s here,” Severus said without turning to her, without needing to identify the person in question.

“Yes.”

It was all she could muster.

_If I use the Time Turner I could make this all go away. I won’t be home the day he threw me down the stairs. Wait…I’ll change it so I’ll never even live at Grimmauld. In fact, I’ll keep Ron from drinking in the first place. Severus and I could live in peace and—_

Another flash of silver flickered across her vision as the daylight fought for her attention.

In that moment, Severus’s words came to her: _"It's not the answer, Hermione. You know this. You can't undo what has been done. The Time Turner doesn't work that way," he said gently. "He would find another, similar way to hurt you."_

Using the Time Turner wouldn’t fix anything.

“He’s keeping just outside the perimeter of the charm,” Severus snarled. “Motherfucker.” He set his jaw and stepped onto the cobblestone street from the sidewalk.

She couldn’t allow Severus to act. Because he would shoulder the blame. And she would lose him to Azkaban.

She had to do something herself. _Now_.

Hermione grabbed his arm. “No.”

Severus didn’t look at her. She saw his jaw clench. _“No?”_

“No,” she repeated. “ _Please._ I have to be the one to do this. It has to be me.”

_She’d_ been the one who had suffered at Ron’s hands, not Severus. And she knew Ron wasn’t going to stop. Who would be his next victim? The blonde witch she’d discovered in his bed? The stranger wearing the too-short skirt in the pub?

Whether it was today or next week or next year, Ron was planning to hurt her again, and if Severus lost her, it would kill him.

And she owed Severus a lifetime. She’d promised… _a lifetime._

Half a block down to their right, witches and wizards had gathered around a stage and a raised podium. Hermione turned her eyes from the small crowd and back towards the alley, tentatively placing a foot onto the street.

She met Ron’s eyes again. Suddenly her feet were glued to the cobblestone.

Ron scoffed at her, as if to say _See, I knew you wouldn’t have the courage to do it._

Her feet refused to take another step.

The magically amplified sound of someone clearing their throat resonated through the air. It was Kingsley.

“Welcome, friends. As many of you already know, I will be stepping down as Minister of Magic. It has been my pleasure to serve the Wizarding world during its time of need, and I am grateful for all the support…”

Cheers of the crowd temporarily drowned out Kingsley’s voice.

“…I have the pleasure of announcing that the Ministry has chosen a new leader, one who…”

More cheers.

“…I am here to introduce that very wizard to you. You may know him as a friend or a colleague, or you may know him through the fine pages of our own _Daily Prophet_. He is a humble wizard, a wizard who eschews even the notion that he is a war hero. I assure you, however, that he is. Not only have I fought by his side in the Battle of Hogwarts…”

If she didn’t have the strength to do this now— _right_ now—she never would. But her feet still wouldn’t move.

She turned to glance at her bondmate. Her Potions Master was as fixed as stone, his wand out, his obsidian robes motionless around him.

Another barely-heard _Sonorus_ reverberated through the air.

“Hullo. My name is Arthur Weasley. I am here to accept…“

Ron continued to jeer at her.

The voice of her would-be father-in-law had somehow convinced her feet to move.

One step.

She could see Ron laughing at her. Taunting her.

Another step.

Ron glared at her but didn’t back away, as if to say _You wouldn’t dare._

She took the final step, the one that put Ron within one hundred feet of her.

The one that condemned him to Azkaban.

A shrill screech pierced the air all around them, followed by an explosion of CRACKS as three Aurors Apparated directly into the alleyway, wands already drawn. Hermione whispered a prayer of thanks that Harry was not among them.

The reporters and photographers turned their eyes away from Arthur Weasley and to the object of the Aurors’ attention—a young wizard frozen in a malicious sneer, knife already in hand.

And from within the crowd, a woman began to scream her son’s name.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to an awesome reader, Carol's Sister, for the idea to send Molly, well, somewhere *else*. I hope you enjoy the end to this story. As always, thanks for reading. -slbb

After one last furtive glance at Severus, Hermione Apparated home, collapsing onto the soft grass the moment that she stopped spinning. Uncertain how she hadn’t splinched herself into all the parts that felt ripped apart, Hermione lifted her head to search for Severus.

He arrived a breath later and vaulted to her, his arms granting her permission to cry.

Severus picked her up and carried her inside, entrusting her to the deep brown leather couch and covering her with a throw. Wordlessly, he retreated to the kitchen, returning with a hot cup of tea. It tasted as if he had laced it liberally with Calming Draught. She didn’t care. She sobbed into the wool, tears falling down her nose and darkening the emerald and silver of the blanket into splotches of near-black and deep grey.

They sat in silence for a long while. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak.

“I…I…what did I do?” Hermione sniffled when she had composed herself enough to find her voice.

“The right thing.” He pulled her closer, holding her so tightly, she thought her brokenness just might mend. “It was inevitable.”

* * *

 

Hermione couldn’t have guessed how long she remained snuggled against Severus’s chest on the couch. At some point, he had threaded his fingers in hers. She was grateful for his comforting touch: Molly’s screams haunted Hermione each time she allowed her mind to wander.

“Severus…I…” She hesitated. What words could possibly express how heavy _and_ light her heart felt at this very moment, after all that had happened? It was heavy with burden, yet light with relief. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Of course.” She felt his chest rumble beneath her as he spoke.

There was a flutter of noise as a Ministry owl swooped in the open sitting room window, landing on the side table near Hermione. She pulled away from her Potions Master and relieved the bird of its message.

She swallowed hard.

“Harry has asked us to meet him at Grimmauld Place as soon as we can. He wants to show us what the Aurors found in Ron’s room.” She looked up to meet Severus’s dark eyes. “What do you think?”

“I think we should trust Potter’s judgment on this.”

“Okay.” She stood up and found she was steadier on her feet than she would have guessed. “Floo or Apparate?”

“Side-Along Apparate,” Severus said authoritatively. He took her hand. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

As they arrived on the front step of 12 Grimmauld Place, Hermione was hit with a wave of bittersweet nostalgia. This home had been her refuge after the war, after all: it had been a place of comfort until Ron had ruined it for her. For all of them.

Harry was waiting for them just inside the threshold. He was dressed in his Auror’s robes.

“Hey,” he said pulling the door wide for them to enter.  

“Hey.” She smiled sadly at Harry and reached for his hand to squeeze it for a second. She’d been so caught up in her own pain, she had nearly forgotten Ron had been Harry’s best friend, too.

Harry hesitated. “Are you sure you want to see this?” He glanced at Severus. “I can take Professor Snape upstairs while you wait—“

Hermione cut across him. “I need to. I think it will help me, actually.”

Severus took her hand, lacing his fingers in hers and gripping it hard. As they followed Harry up the wooden stairs, Hermione could hardly breathe. This wooden grey stairwell had nearly taken her life. It was right _there_ where she had broken her ankle, _there_ where she had wrenched her arm, _there_ where she had hit her head. She suppressed a shudder and fought a wave of nausea.

Severus squeezed her hand tighter.

Aurors Urquart and Tudorov turned to regard Hermione as she walked into Ron’s bedroom. The dingy blind had been pulled up and the window had been pried partially open, casting a sallow light in the grey room. The desk drawers had been upended onto the bed, the contents sorted into piles of everyday things like broken quills, empty inkpots, and blank pieces of parchment. On the desk stood a neat stack of papers and photographs. It looked ominous.

Harry cleared his throat, dragging Hermione’s attention from the stack on desk back to him. “I asked Head Auror Macmillan if I could contact you before we took the evidence back to the office,” he said, indicating the pile. “He agreed.”

Hermione moved slowly towards the desk.  She fingered a photograph on the top of the pile gingerly.

The photograph had been taken in the Gryffindor common room during her Sixth Year. In the picture, her image glanced up from an essay with a quill in hand, and smiled. She remembered Ron taking it, having borrowed Colin Creevey’s new wizarding camera.

She’d seen it many times—Ron had always said it was one of his favorites.

Seeing its condition now sent chills through her. The photograph was wrinkled—it seemed to have been balled up and smoothed out again. What appeared to be burns marred the part of the picture where her eyes would have been. _DEAD WHORE_ had been scrawled across the rest of her face in fat, red marker. She shivered.

“Professor, here’s a note that I think you should read.” Harry handed Severus a folded parchment. “It’s typical of the ones we found.”

Hermione watched her bondmate purposely still his face as he opened it.

“What…?” she asked him.

Severus glanced up but didn’t answer her. His dark eyes blazed alarmingly.

“I believe this is all the evidence one would ever need,” he said, addressing Harry.

Hermione picked up a different letter near the top of the pile and read it.

_They think they can keep me away from her? Who the fuck do they think they are? They’re wrong. She’s mine and I can do whatever the fuck I want. If that greasy git thinks he can have her, he’s wrong. No one can. Ever. And I’m going to see to it. It’s going to be a pleasure to slit their throats._

Hermione stood dumbfounded, rereading Ron’s nearly unintelligible handwriting. She stared hard at the ink, desperately trying to make sense of the scrawl. The man she thought she might marry—the boy she had considered to be her best friend for nearly seven years—wanted to _slit her throat? What?_

A flurry of five owls soared in the grimy window. She jumped. They drifted to their respective recipients to present identical creamy envelopes, each sealed with a garnet wax stamp. She took the missive from the bird that had landed nearest to her but found she didn’t have the will to open it.

Harry ripped his open and read aloud. “Your presence is requested at an informal meeting at the Ministry of Magic to discuss the current situation involving Ronald Weasley. Please arrive at 5 p.m. this evening and ask to be directed to meeting room 329A. Your cooperation in this matter is greatly appreciated. Sabastian Fawley, Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic.”

“We’ve been summoned by Fawley,” Harry said unnecessarily, glancing at them.

“Should we go?” Hermione asked, turning to her husband.

“I don’t believe we have choice, however it has been worded,” Severus responded levelly as he gently pried Ron’s written promise of violence out of her now-shaking hand.

“I suppose we’ll see you there, then,” Harry said, shrugging and gathering the pile of photographs and letters into a leather briefcase. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” Severus said, handing both of Ron’s parchments back to Harry. “I believe we have seen enough.”

And Severus led her to the hall and Apparated them away.

* * *

 

“Are you okay?” Severus asked as soon as they had landed back at the cottage.

Hermione sighed. “I am. I thought I did the right thing this afternoon. Now I’m sure I did.”

“I’m sorry it came to that,” he said, keeping his arms around her.

“Me, too.” Hermione pulled away. “I think…I think I’d like to shower before the meeting.”

“Good idea,” he said, kissing the top of her head tenderly. “Let me know if you need anything.”

* * *

 

Hermione emerged from the shower a good half an hour later after, feeling infinitely better. She padded into the sitting room in bare feet, clothed in clean denims and a t-shirt, and rubbing her hair with a towel. Her husband smile-smirked at her approvingly.

“What was that noise I heard a little while ago?” she asked Severus.

“A Howler from Molly Weasley.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fabulous.”

A strange noise pulled her attention to the kitchen. Apparently, Errol was trying to navigate an imagined opening in the window near the sink. Hermione would have laughed except for the red envelope in his beak. It was another Howler. She cringed.

“I’m guessing that one is for you, angel,” he said, a note of sadness in his voice. “Let me apologize on her behalf for what she’s about to say.”

Hermione frowned. Just when she had started to feel better, a Weasley had to ruin it.

* * *

 

“Well, it’s been quite a day hasn’t it?” Severus commented as the Howler finally silenced and exploded into ash.

Molly had screeched at her through the Howler for a good ten minutes. Now, whenever the witch’s voice sounded in her head, Hermione no longer heard Molly’s lament for her son in Diagon Alley. Instead, she heard the insults and threats Molly had sent via owl. Apparently, insults and threats are just the trick to get one to forget a mother’s wails.

Ironically, the Howler had been just what Hermione needed.

“It _has_ been quite a day.” She fingered the summons from the Ministry of Magic. “And it’s not over yet.”

“Look at me, Hermione,” her bondmate said. “Everything will be okay. I promise.”

She smiled at him softly, this brave and loyal man…this man who had claimed her as his…this man, who only had half the time to fall in love with her than she had to fall in love with him. Merlin, how she adored him. Her emotions were a mess—rage, guilt, disgust, and terror were fighting for control. Yet this _wonderful_ man continued to comfort her through all of it. It was past time to turn her focus back to him.

Hermione went to the kitchen to find exactly where she had left her robes, pulled the box from _Diagon Alley Jewelry_ out of a pocket, and stumbled back into the sitting room.

“I…I’m not sure how to give this to you, but I…I wanted you to have it before we go.” _No, not wanted. Needed._

Hermione handed him the box with a shaking hand, and sat down beside him on the couch.

Severus opened it and looked at her, his dark eyes shining. “It’s perfect, Hermione. Thank you.”

* * *

 

The meeting room was cold. Icy, in fact.

Hermione could still hear footsteps echoing in the hallway outside the room even after Severus shut the door behind them, closing them in.

Harry, Urquart, Tudorov, and three other wizards were already seated around a large oval table when they arrived. Based on the style and colour of their robes, Hermione guessed the other three were the current Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Gregory Selwyn, Head of the Auror Office, Connor Macmillan, and Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, Derwin Fawley.

“Master Snape. Madam Snape,” Fawley said, indicating chairs for them to sit.

The wizards didn’t bother to introduce themselves. Did they think such trivialities were beneath them? Or did they believe common curtesy to be a waste of time?

“In the light of today’s unforeseen events in Diagon Alley, we’ve called you here to discuss the particulars of the situation with Ronald Weasley,” continued Undersecretary Fawley, “and the charm placed on him by Minister Shacklebolt.”

“The Wizengamot is currently investigating Minister Shacklebolt’s circumvention of traditional court proceedings,” added the Chief Warlock.  

Fawley glanced at the Chief Warlock and narrowed his eyes.

“While the Minister is authorized to make decisions of this nature without directly involving the Wizengamot, it is considered somewhat irregular,” clarified Fawley with a sour twist to his lips.

There was a slight pause as the wizards considered each other from opposite sides of the table. Hermione wondered idly if wands would be drawn. She preferred not to have to break up a duel, if it came to that.

The Head Auror cleared his throat.

“As we have established the facts of the case…,” he drawled, allowing his words to trail off when he glanced at Severus, who had arched his eyebrow at the Head Auror’s comment.

“How is it that you’ve ‘established the facts of the case’ without interviewing the victim?” Severus asked darkly. “You called us here. _My wife_ _is right here_. Since you have interrupted our afternoon and _requested_ our presence at this _meeting_ , certainly there can be no reason to deprive her of her testimony in this case.”

“Master Snape—“

“I am a witness as well.”

“There is no need—“

Hermione reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Severus, it’s fine. Really. I’d rather not stay any longer than we have to.”

“What exactly do you need from us, since apparently you do not require my wife’s statement?” Severus asked snidely.

The Undersecretary chose not to answer Severus’s question directly. “Since Minister Shacklebolt was the one who implemented the charm on Ronald Weasley, the responsibility for the charm is entirely his. Therefore, we do not hold you accountable for the results that were witnessed today.”

“Well, thank Merlin,” Hermione muttered sarcastically under her breath. “But technically, you were not witnessing the results of—“

Severus kicked her in the shin under the table. She clamped her mouth shut.

Undersecretary Fawley gave her a warning look. “As I stated, we do not necessarily disagree with the Minister’s _actions_ , including the application of the charm itself. However…” He steepled his fingers in an eerie impersonation of Dumbledore. “We find the stipulation for sentencing without parole to be rather…extreme.”

_Ah, now we’re getting to it._

Hermione glanced at her bondmate. Apparently, he was trying to decide which words would be best to eviscerate them with. He surprised her by asking a question instead.

“Is Shacklebolt still stepping down?” Severus asked, his brow wrinkled in obvious contempt for the older wizards posturing around the table.

“Pardon?”

“Is Shacklebolt still stepping down?” he repeated.

“Yes, _Minister_ Shacklebolt has resigned from his position,” the Undersecretary said, correcting Severus as if he were a disrespectful child. “I assure you, Minister Shacklebolt’s decision was quite unrelated to our current discussion. The Wizarding world needs to heal. Trust in the Ministry is more important than ever in the wake of the war and after the infiltration by—“

“Please, spare us—“ Hermione interrupted, rolling her eyes.

Severus kicked her again. She bit her lip to keep herself from yelping and saying anything else.

Fortunately, Undersecretary Fawley ignored her.

“What do you propose?” Severus asked, his velvet baritone wavering with fury.

“The charm must be removed and the life sentence be rescinded. In turn, the Wizengamot will find Mr. Weasley guilty of attempted murder. The mandatory sentence for attempted murder is ten years. Truthfully, the Wizengamot and the Auror’s Office are uncomfortable with anything beyond that.”

Silence. Hermione saw Harry twitch and bite his cheek, presumably to keep his own mouth shut. She was impressed.

“We have a counter proposal,” Severus said, as if he were discussing the sale of property and not negotiating life imprisonment for her former best friend. “We will agree to the sentence of ten years under these conditions.

“First, Mr. Weasley has been denied his opportunity to receive appropriate counseling at St Mungo’s. We would like to request that he receive that counseling before going to Azkaban and that he be evaluated by St Mungo’s again before his release.”

“Why was Mr. Weasley not in St Mungo’s receiving the appropriate therapy?” asked the Chief Warlock rather sharply.

The Head Auror opened his mouth to speak and snapped it shut, apparently thinking the better of it.

“That is a question you will need to ask of Minister-Elect Weasley directly,” Severus said snidely.

“Go on,” said Fawley, after a moment.

“Secondly,” Severus continued, “although both the physical evidence gleaned from Mr. Weasley’s room in Grimmauld Place and the multiple incidences of violence against my wife attest to the fact that Mr. Weasley is quite dangerous, we do not wish to condemn him to the maximum security wing of Azkaban. Therefore, we request that he be incarcerated in sections that are not guarded by dementors.” Severus’s lip curled into a sneer.

“Master Snape, it is widely known that dementors are no longer part of the guard staff of Azkaban,” said Fowley, his voice rising indignantly.

“So says the Ministry.” Severus held Fawley’s stare. Coldly.

After a moment, the Undersecretary spoke. “Very well then, it’s agreed,” he sighed.

“If that is all?” Severus pushed his chair away from the oval table. Hermione followed his lead.

“Ah…” Fawley glanced at his cohorts. “Yes, I do believe that is all for now. Master Snape. Madam Snape. Good day.”

Hermione glanced at Harry as she rose. He looked grim, but not wildly upset. Thank Merlin, Severus reached for her hand and they closed the door to the conference room behind them.

* * *

 

“Why did you make that request to keep Ron away from the dementors?” Hermione asked him as she removed her robes and sat down on their bed to toe off her trainers.  

“Because if dementors guard Mr. Weasley, he will be even more dangerous should he be released.” Severus answered, unbuttoning his frock coat. “After ten years, he will likely be insane.”

“And you knew that the Ministry was still using dementors, even though they had announced they had dismissed them?”

“I knew.” Severus didn’t elaborate, which was fine by her.

“I know you, Severus Snape.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, smirking at her as he hung up the black wool.

“There’s only one reason you agreed to what they proposed so easily. You have a plan.”

“In fact, I do.” He smiled and settled down on the bed next to her. “We’ll simply have to see to it that Potter is Minister in ten years when Weasley is scheduled for release.”

She huffed a laugh. “You’ve noticed how long Harry keeps a grudge.” Hermione rose to hang her own robes in the closet. “Well, then. Aren’t you the planner? You might have to convince Harry first, though.”

“I may or may not mention to him that the Minister for Magic has the authority to prevent the release of violent prisoners even after they have served their sentence if they continue to be a threat to another witch or wizard.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she made her way back towards the bed. Severus reached up and grabbed her arm and pulled her to him until she was on his lap.

“I have to watch over you, angel. That’s my job.”

“Is it?” she asked playfully, her eyes flicking to the bed behind him.

“But it’s not my only job,” he smirked and kissed her. Deliciously.

* * *

 

Several hours later, Severus unfolded a late-edition-special _Prophet_ that had arrived by just owl minutes earlier.

The newspaper’s photographers had perfectly captured both the malevolent sneer frozen on Ron’s face and the shock on Arthur Weasley’s. The bastards had juxtaposed the two pictures across the entirety of the upper half of the front page.

Hermione supposed that the image of Ron with his hand gripping a knife should silence the faint whisper of guilt that momentarily plagued her, even after her visit to his room at Grimmauld. She found, instead, that it was cold comfort.

“Can I see it?” she asked.

He handed her the newspaper without comment.

**_War Hero Ronald Weasley Sentenced to Azkaban for Attempted Murder_ **

_Ronald Bilius Weasley, War Hero, Order of Merlin, and son of Arthur and Molly Weasley, has been sentenced to ten years in Azkaban for attempted murder. Sources close to the_ Prophet _revealed his intended victim, Hermione (Granger) Snape, War Hero and Order of Merlin, had been attacked twice by Mr. Weasley within the last few weeks._ Prophet _sources have also learned that overwhelming evidence found at Mr. Weasley’s residence suggests that he had been planning additional harm to Madam Snape._

_Mr. Weasley was remanded to St Mungo’s today for counseling, which must be completed before starting his prison sentence._

_Additional terms of Mr. Weasley’s sentence were unclear at the time of printing._

Hermione glanced up to meet Severus’s infinitely black eyes.

“There’s more,” he said. “Keep reading.”

She focused back on the _Prophet_.

**_Arthur Weasley Steps Down as Minister-Elect_ **

“Holy shite,” she muttered.

_In an astounding turn of events, Arthur Weasley has resigned his position as Minister for Magic-Elect after an internal Ministry investigation unearthed that Mr. Weasley coerced several St Mungo’s officials to release his youngest son, Ronald Bilius Weasley, from their inpatient detox and counseling programme only days after he had been admitted._ Prophet _sources confirmed that Ronald had been required to take part in a thirty day programme after a second physical attack on fellow War Hero, Hermione (Granger) Snape._

_Undersecretary Sabastian Fawley released an official statement earlier today, confirming that although Mr. Weasley has stepped down as Minister-Elect, Kingsley Shacklebolt would not be returning as Minister._

_“The Ministry of Magic is deeply troubled by the gross abuse of power in this situation,” Undersecretary Fawley said in his official statement, “and we have taken the appropriate measures to rectify it. The Ministry understands the importance of trust, strong leadership, and continuity in times like these. To that end, I will remain in my position as Undersecretary for the foreseeable future. Expect an official announcement of the Ministry’s choice for a new Minister for Magic tomorrow morning.”_

_Arthur Weasley had been Minister Shacklebolt’s personal recommendation as his replacement._

_Neither Minister Shacklebolt nor Arthur Weasley were available for comment._

Hermione sighed and handed the _Prophet_ back to Severus. Well, at least the day was nearly over.

* * *

 

“I’m enjoying watching this unfold from afar,” Hermione said the following morning, turning the day’s Prophet around so Severus could see the latest headline.

**_Connor Macmillan, Head of Auror Office, Confirmed as New Minister for Magic_ **

“Don’t think you’re safe by any means. I’d say we’re only one owl away from being called into the Wizengamot and being buried alive by paperwork, meetings, and committees,” Severus responded with a smirk. He took a sip of his Earl Grey.

Hermione pointed to the bolded words under the fold.

**_Harry Potter Named Head of Auror Office_ **

“Well, then,” Hermione said. “That was quick.”

“Part one of the plan complete, and no action was required on my part,” Severus said smugly.

“Hmph.” It was all Hermione could muster as she poured them both some more tea.

* * *

 

The relaxing morning slid into afternoon, and there had been little for her to do save contemplate the day’s news. It had been the first pleasant day Hermione could remember enjoying in quite some time. She’d had already finished _A Study in Advanced Charms_ , and—maybe for the first time in her life—she didn’t feel like reading. She wandered aimlessly around the cottage’s sitting room. Severus was out in the garden again, ensuring the warming charms were holding around the young plants.

She paused at the bookshelf and idly reached for the dictionary she bought him. Smiling, she sat down and ran her fingers over the leather cover. It fell open in her lap.

The letters on the pages shimmered and every entry began to reform into:

**Angel** [ **eyn** -j _uh_  l]  **/** **noun**

  1. **one of a class of spiritual beings; a celestial attendant of God.**



**[…]**

  1. **a person having qualities generally attributed to an angel, as beauty, purity, or kindliness. _As in: Hermione Snape is my angel._**



Hermione laughed. She closed the dictionary and nestled the book back between her copy of _Watch Over Me_ and _Potions for Play_ and went out into the garden to be closer to her husband.

* * *

 

Hermione was happily enjoying a glass of white wine while watching Severus prepare their dinner salad when the distinctive CRACK of Apparition echoed through the kitchen window. She glanced at Severus. He shrugged.

“Harry!” she said, opening the door wide for her best friend to enter the sitting room. “Come in!”

“Hey. I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said with an obvious glance at her glass.

“Not at all. Have you eaten? Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“Hermione is not cooking this evening, if that assists in your decision,” Severus called from the kitchen.

“Haha,” Hermione called back over her shoulder. “Well, if you can’t stay for dinner, at least have a Butterbeer,” she said, turning her back on Harry and walking towards the kitchen. “Maybe a glass of wine?”

“A Butterbeer would be brilliant,” Harry said, following Hermione. “Ginny asked me to stop by and tell you that they took Molly into St Mungo’s for evaluation.”

“Evaluation?”

“Psychiatric evaluation.”

“Oh.” Hermione paused. How should she say this? “Perhaps it’s for the best.”

She glanced at her bondmate. Severus raised an eyebrow.

“Is Ginny okay?” Hermione asked, handing Harry a bottle.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Please accept my congratulations on your new position as Head Auror, Mr. Potter,” Severus said, raising a glass of wine to Harry’s Butterbeer.

“Yes! Congratulations on your new job, Harry.” Hermione leaned in to hug her best friend.

“Hey, thanks,” Harry said, flushing.

“I’m glad you stopped by,” Hermione said. “Maybe you and Ginny could join us for dinner one of these days.”

“That’d be great,” Harry responded. “As long as you promise that you won’t be cooking.”

“Even I wouldn’t put you through that,” Severus said, and Hermione rolled her eyes at her two favorite wizards and laughed.

* * *

 

**Five Weeks Later**

Since Ron’s thirty days in St Mungo’s had been completed and he had been moved to a somewhat more _permanent_ residence, Hermione had enjoyed the luxury of strolling from the cottage to Hogsmeade every afternoon on her own while Severus tended the garden. Rather, now that Ron was safely incarcerated in Azkaban, Severus _allowed_ her to walk to the village and back by herself.

She knew she had never been truly alone, however.

Apparently, Hermione had been assigned some… _protection_. In the form of Aurors, in fact.

Her would-be bodyguards followed her everywhere when she ventured outside the property’s wards. The Aurors tried to shadow her without being seen—and some did a better job than others.

But whether they were good at staying invisible or not, she knew they were there.

Hermione had made a bit of a game of it, actually. If she could catch one of their eyes through the glass from inside Honeydukes or from the opposite side of The Three Broomsticks, she would wink at them as they quickly looked away. Then she’d stare, unmoving, until they glanced up again, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration warring for control of their faces.

Hermione suspected collusion between one over-protective husband and one sneaky best friend was to blame. She didn’t mind. She would happily play the vulnerable, defenseless girl needing protection if they became closer. She hoped a shared secret could forge a friendship between these two people she loved so dearly.

She was nearly home. After waving exuberantly at the disillusioned Auror near the bend in the path, she closed one fist protectively around her discovery and sprinted from the road towards the wooden front gate of the cottage. She heard the faint CRACK of the Auror Apparate away as she reached the boundary of their property.

Opening the front door with such force it swung around and banged into the sitting room wall, she called, “Severus, Severus! Come quick!”

Her husband appeared in the door frame leading to the backyard almost instantly, dirt trailing out of his left glove and onto the wooden floor.

“Severus! Guess what? Finally, after all this time! I finally got you!”

He looked at her blankly. She noticed his attempt to loosen the grip on the ebony wand that had somehow appeared in his right hand.

Severus looked down from her face to her fist; she opened it slowly, revealing a chocolate frog—sans one leg—and the card that had come with it in the package. She beamed at him.

“Look! _War Hero and Order of Merlin, First Class, Severus Snape!_ ”

 The frog made a pathetic attempt to jump off her hand. She popped it in her mouth before it got away. “I got you!” she said around a mouthful of chocolate.

“Yes. Yes, you did,” he said, finding his voice, his lips slowly forming into smile.

* * *

 

**One Month Later**

“What do you have planned for the rest of the day? Or should I say ‘evening’?” she amended, glancing out the window to the darkening sky.

“Something to get your mind off things and back on me.”

Hermione sat down on the rug in front of the fire, wine glass in hand.

“Really?” she asked. “And what would that be?”

He walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out _Potions for Play_.

“What do you say we try page 33?” he asked, presenting her with the book.

She opened to the page and gulped.

“Sweet Merlin, Severus…what…” She scrunched up her eyes and rotated the book as she tried to figure out exactly what she was looking at. “What are they…?”

“You told me once that you have a very vivid imagination,” he said.

She glanced up at her husband. With a flourish, her Potions Master presented her with a flask marked _page 33_ and the most sinful smirk she had ever seen.

It was going to be one _delightful_ evening.


End file.
